Unspoken
by Diet of Wurms
Summary: (口無し kuchinashi (n). Something that is unspoken) After many decades away from home, Nanu receives an emergency call and heads back to Viridian City to deal with a personal issue. But once he gets there, a strange turn means he has to face some old demons, a healthy does of criminal intrigue, a hard-to-read ex-mob boss, and a plot that may wind up killing him.
1. Sere

**Author's notes** :

 _This story sequentially follows the events in "Beasts and Beauties." Reading that story is not *necessary* to understand the plot, though it would gave you some more information about Nanu and his life in Alola. It may be worth reading the final chapter of that story (Addendum Two: No Man Is An Island), which serves as a transition from that story to this one._

 _As some of you will be here following "Beasts and Beauties," allow me to highlight some significant differences: genre-wise, think crime drama; more violence; darker events; death; uhh, just more grown-up things I guess, as it will feature character who are old and looking back on life. Expect reams of original characters, a whole new region, criminal shenanigans, and existential crises. This story will *generally* hold to the video game canon, not the anime, though I am taking plenty of creative license for the purpose of storytelling._

 _And please note: The Giovanni in this story is NOT the Giovanni who leads Team Rainbow Rocket. Rainbow Rocket is led by an alternate-dimension version of the man, who traveled to Alola from a timeline in which Champion Red never defeated him/ruined his plans. In fact, as I'll be following the timeline present in Su/Mo (not the parallel version of events in US/UM), Team Rainbow Rocket never happened. The Giovanni you will encounter is Su/Mo-universe, many-times-a-loser Giovanni._

* * *

 **Unspoken**

 **Chapter 1: Sere**

"So, Viridian City? Business or pleasure?"

Maybe if Nanu pretended not to hear the question, the young, obnoxiously-perky clerk wouldn't push it.

He already handed over his ticket and identification, so he had no excuse to rifle through his pockets like he had something to look for, but he did anyway. This saved him from eye contact and helped the clerk get the message.

"Er… Any bags for check-in?"

"Nope."

With a nervous, tense swivel of their head, the woman handed back his materials and gave a customary bow. "...Your departure… Is currently on time, at the second gate. Have a good flight, sir."

He declined to say anything. He took the ticket and rolled his carry-on bag behind him.

* * *

The gods invented air travel to punish mankind, Nanu thought. Each step of it held unique, hellish qualities: paying a hefty sum. Packing bags and having to arrange for others to care for your things while you're away. Lines. Questions. Waiting. Having to talk to people, then having to _sit_ next to people for hours on end. The only grace in it was that Nanu had flown so many times in his life, that these irritations did not overwhelm him to the point of shooting anyone.

To be fair, the Alolan airport was tiny to the point of irrelevance, with only two gates and a handful of passengers. These days, prices of flights in and out of Alola drove most tourists to make their way via boat, usually to a port in Kalos or Unova, from which flights could be more thriftily arranged. The very wealthy could afford private planes. The rest―businessmen with travel expenses paid and those who had some money to burn―ended up here, desperately trying to shave a day's worth of travel off of their itinerary. Nanu was likely the only passenger whose trip would be at the taxpayer's expense. A perk of being a former Interpol agent.

The flight would be leaving within the hour. He eyed the uncomfortable-looking chairs, found a spot in a row of empty spaces far from everyone else, and took a seat. Yup. Uncomfortable was right. In attempt to be positive, he brought out a paperback and told himself, _at least I can get some reading done_.

But he couldn't crack the first page before his cell phone rang.

He first cursed himself for forgetting to turn it off, then produced it from his interior coat pocket. Nanu stubbornly refused to graduate to a smartphone, but his flip phone still had the ability to warn him of the identity of his harasser, so he glanced at the screen and felt his heart rate spike.

 _The Noise_.

He would probably get away with not answering and shutting the phone off until he arrived in Kanto. He would be in the air soon; it was a valid excuse.

But better to get it over with.

Expertly, he held the phone at an arm's length from his face, and more importantly, his ear. He answered the call and said, "What is it?"

" _UNCLE_!"

Several people turned around in their seats, startled and trying to find the source of the grating, distorted scream. He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. Deep breaths. "Girl, you are going to pierce my eardrum one day."

" _YOU DIDN'T EVEN SAY GOODBYE!_ "

Oh. Acerola was mad. She did sound a little screechier than usual. Leaving a curt note on the door of the police station apparently didn't win her over. He tentatively brought the phone to his ear, hoping he wouldn't have to yank it back. "Didn't think I needed to."

" _Uncle Nanu_ ," she lectured, " _Of course you need to! Who's going to watch over the island!?_ "

Amused by her sincerity, he told her, "Breathe. I'm not even out of Alola yet. Ula'ula's not gonna start sinking until I'm in the air."

" _THAT'S NOT FUNNY!_ " Her voice turned sullen and pouty. " _Where are you going, anyway?_ "

"Kanto."

" _That far away? For how long?_ "

"Dunno. A while."

The shrill, kittenish voice drooped. " _Awww_. _But I'll miss you!_ "

"...I don't really see why."

" _Well, fine! I'm gonna name a-a-a-all your Meowth while you're away_."

"Don't."

" _If you don't want me to, you hafta stay._ "

"Hmph." Nanu smirked and eyed the other passengers, who by now returned to their solitary activities. Seeing no one sitting close enough to listen in, he said, "I don't negotiate with terrorists."

To his surprise, she seemed to get the joke. She giggled and sighed. " _It's okay… I understand. If you're going… I guess it must be really important. You don't like going anywhere!_ "

"Yeah, yeah. Look, kid. I gotta go."

" _All right! Be safe, Uncle Nanu! And bring me something!_ "

Safe? Nanu dwelled on that thought. Not only would the trip be safe, but deathly boring. He wished he could ask for a different blessing. "I'll try. Now get to bed. It's late."

Upon hanging up, he heard and saw the form of an airplane rolling in toward the gate from the inky blackness. Nanu brought out his book again. Might as well read now; he'd be asleep on the plane.

* * *

Calculating together the time zone change and travel time, he arrived to a town in the midst of a cool, autumnal afternoon tumbling with a soft breeze and gentler public. He'd looked into the area's weather and planned somewhat accordingly, so no flip-flops for the time being, and no Alolan police uniform. He'd never served as an officer in Viridian anyhow, so he didn't want to elicit any confusion or unwanted attention. He came fully intending to blend in with the populace.

He almost let himself call it "going undercover." But this was just him, wasn't it? Him, stripped of his titles: no Officer, no Kahuna, no Agent. He rolled his luggage out to the curb, hailed a taxi, and found himself feeling peculiar.

Viridian City had changed.

Nanu found himself noticing this now, despite the fact that he visited the so-named _Eternally Green Paradise_ recently. Three years prior, he flew in on another emergency situation, but because the visit had been so short, and the situation so distracting, Nanu didn't spend any time sightseeing or even taking notice of how the place had evolved.

The changes didn't take him by surprise. In the easy chatter of smalltalk and gossip, in the scanning of news stories, and by sheer attention to urban development, Nanu knew that Viridian City was no longer the sleepy village of dirt and gravel, humble homes and lakeside cottages, wood-panel ramen shops and family-run diners. Ever since the Pokemon League broke ground and the Elite Four made their home up in the city's bordering mountains, and especially when the Viridian Gym opened, the culture and economy of the town shifted. No more did they need to depend on the small crowd of tourists hope to take in the lakeview scenery of Mt. Silver or partake in the valley's hot-spring resorts. Trainers came. And trainers bring―as any town with a gym can attest―all the vitality, beauty, and rowdiness that comes from an influx of youth.

Where Nanu remembered a dirt path lining a row of small shops, now a train station bustled with activity alongside a traffic-clogged streetway. Glossy signs for sleek, modern shopping centers sat parallel to every road, and cafes with outdoor seating were dotted with young people carrying backpacks and drinks. Glass-paneled buildings towered over the once flat skyline; buses hissed and motorists sputtered. The whole downtown rumbled.

The farther the taxi brought him out of the downtown area, however, the more familiar the scenery became. Dilapidated structures yet to be gentrified lurked like skeletons at the outer edge of the city's center, tucked between narrow, cobblestone streets, and if he gave them a careful look, he could recognize some of their shapes, faded colors, and signs, although they were all ghosts of their former selves. Paper lanterns strung from doorways illuminated the businesses still open. Few people gathered there except for a few trainers engaging in battles away from the crowd congestion. Those alleyways had always been prime spots for a good one-on-one fight.

Once the taxi brought him out of the city, he at last had an unobscured view of the hills and mountains that walled in the valley. The area's famous cedar trees crested well above the other vegetation, creating a wall of unbroken viridian color about the town. The autumnal season meant the other trees―the maples and the beech trees and dozens of other species―had exploded into a fireworks display of crackling reds and golds, bronze and flame. On the hillside leading up to Mount Silver, the trees were a breathtaking patchwork of colors. Alola had its advantages as a place of perpetual warmth and sun, and Nanu did not miss the often-bitter winters in Kanto, but there was something about the strong swing of seasons that made Kanto beautiful.

Besides, it beat being stuck in the rain all the time.

Down the short country road, dry leaves pushed by the wind skittered across, life-like in their nervousness. Here, where the paved road turned past grassy fields and bridges crossing creeks, Nanu could remember everything. After almost forty years, it felt like he'd never left.

Stepping out of the taxi, then, was like time travel.

He landed on the street.

* * *

At least the neighborhood hadn't changed too much. The high, leafy hedges and the power-lines all along the paved, intersecting roads gave the patch of suburbia an intimate, enclosed feel, and added to the tall gates and walls surrounding each house, it made the streets feel like a maze of hallways with secrets at every corner. Only the upper rooftops of each home were visible from the street, some even more obscured by yellowing tree branches. If you didn't know the area, it could be a disorienting matter.

Nanu had reached his destination, though. The house between the gray-brick wall and the wood pallet fence, the house currently being overtaken by red maple at its roof and shrubs at its feet. Two stories, that plain, unassuming tan color that Kantonians favored as to not appear too showy, tight in width, curtains shut, nothing stirring. A house that didn't turn heads and could be confused with dozens of others. But he knew this one.

The gate into the driveway had been pulled open and left there; security in this neighborhood tended to be lax during the day. It saved him some hoisting.

He passed under the wooden arch that had seen better days, noted the car parked deep in the shrubbery and covered in a tarp and leaves, and the garden―not much of a garden anymore, but some remnants remained: stone statues swallowed by vines, the last of autumn's purple wildflowers poking out of the withered grass.

The path up to the house hadn't been raked, so he had to wade through an ankle-deep layer of dead leaves shed by the monstrous, untended trees overhead. He gave up on dragging his luggage through it and lugged it at his thigh, puffing with an embarrassing amount of strain.

One, two, three. The creaking, thumping sounds of his feet on the wooden steps made memories flood back.

Nanu flitted them aside to focus on the task at hand. He stood before the door―a proud, dark oak door that was probably older than he was.

He knocked.

No answer.

He groaned. Go figure.

Unwilling to give up, he banged his fist on the door a little harder and hollered, "Sully! Open up!"

Though no voice responded, he could hear a television blaring and a dog barking. Did those count as signs of life? Nanu tugged on the door handle, just to be sure it hadn't been left unlocked. It hadn't. His jostling of the handle put the dog on alert, though; the doggy door at his feet flapped open, and an excited Growlithe stuck its head out to see who had come to disturb the peace. Upon examining him, it continued barking like mad.

"Great." He stuck his face up against the glass but couldn't see anything of importance in the foggy view of the foyer. "If I came all this way and he's a corpse, I'm gonna be real pissed."

Nanu would have to think of alternative measures.

Sullivan was too keen to leave a key under the mat or in some fake novelty rock, and Nanu didn't have any lock-picking tools on him. So instead, he left his luggage on the doorstep and trudged around to the back of the house, from which he could see windows, a second-floor balcony, and a set of steps down into the cellar. As he knew the cellar door was locked (permanently wedged shut from perpetual disuse, as he recalled), he set his eyes on the balcony. Sullivan never locked the sliding door up there. That used to be an easy in, especially when Nanu had reason to slip into the house unnoticed.

The back face of the house was designed in such a way that the railing setting off the cellar stairs lay roughly beneath the balcony, which meant with a bit of balance and acrobatics, a person could use said railing to carry themselves up and climb up the rest of the way. He didn't… remember exactly doing that, but his training told him that was his best bet.

He gauged the jump. Easy, he thought. He even cracked a knuckle before taking a step back and readying himself. Inexplicably, he felt a surge of confidence and took two running steps at the railing.

His muscle memory kicked in. However, his muscles did _not_ take into account that he was no longer thirteen, so within seconds of jumping on top of the guard rail with his first foot, his other foot missed it entirely and he lost his balance. Backwards he went, and he landed on the ground with a powerful thud.

"Uff!"

For a blinding second, he thought he had crushed his spine into dust. But he blinked the stars out of his eyes and soon found that no, he'd merely flattened it onto the stony earth, and now everything in his body radiated pain.

He gasped, hardly able to catch his breath. "Okay… Just gonna… Lie here…" He squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered through the agony. "And think about… How stupid that was… Ugh."

Some minutes passed before he even attempted to get up, and when he did, he groaned the whole way. It might hurt now, but he knew the pain would be pulverizing tomorrow.

Cradling his lower back with his palm, he glanced about the yard. At least no one had seen that.

How _did_ he used to get up there? After looking around, he recognized holes in the brick facade. That's right. He'd use them to climb up the wall and hop his way to the upper railing.

Good lord. What a crazy monkey he was. Just the thought of trying that maneuver now made his back scream in protest.

"...Not happening," he said, as if to calm it down. "I'd break my neck."

He'd just have to rely on some old tricks.

If he wasn't so petrified of letting his Honchkrow fly him about, he could launch himself for the balcony. Instead, he erred on the side of caution… and old, quasi-legal habits. Nanu searched his belt and produced a pokeball.

"...Shoulda done this in the first place," he griped. "Kaitō, come on out."

His Sableye materialized on the ground. It squeaked, saw his uncomfortably-hunched posture, and trilled.

"You remember the place," Nanu said. He directed its attention to the house. "I need the front door open."

Sableye chittered and scritched its ear with a hind leg before offering a grunt of compliance and skittering for the wall. With incredible ease, it scaled the bricks, reached the west bedroom window―a familiar point of entrance―and forced it open by tugging and bracing the hefty glass under its shoulders. Once it disappeared inside, Nanu walked back around to the front of the house. It didn't take long, though in the next few minutes he heard thumping, scratching, hissing, and barking that signalled a quick scrap between his Sableye and the defensive Growlithe. A defeated whine and whimper sounded just as the front door creaked open and his purple goblin, perched on the doorknob, grinned proudly at its master.

Nanu grinned back. "Good boy."

He pushed the door open; Sableye disappeared again, perhaps to continue harassing the dog. When he stepped inside, he noted all the lights were off, leaving the interior shrouded in a late day's darkness.

"Sully." He paused at the foyer to kick off his shoes. "I'm home."

* * *

Anne Marie kept a meticulous house―she was a born homemaker―so Nanu only had memories of the place as a pristine, orderly environment free of dust and dirt. And as such, up until three years ago, Sullivan had lived in relative ease, able to enjoy retirement while his wife, out of habit and duty, took care of their hold.

Some deterioration was to be expected. Nanu just didn't expect it to be _this_ bad.

The foyer appeared in order, but as soon as he took a left into the living room, he saw debris scattered about the house. It looked like a tornado had come through, then a moving company; stacks of mail, garbage bags, empty boxes, newspapers, dog toys, and books covered every surface. The place hadn't been dusted or vacuumed in ages, if the trails of soil and grit on the carpet and furniture were any indication. And the stench...

Nanu stepped over a collapsing pile of unopened mail and wondered what Sullivan thought he was doing with any of this. Some of it looked partially organized, as if the man had pushed things together intending to put them away, but… Forgot? Lost his train of thought?

In the shadows, he saw the familiar arrangement of the living and dining area. The television at the wall beamed its colorful programming from across the room, casting the white fluorescent glow over the sofa and highlighting the shape of Sullivan's head.

By the slow bobbing, Nanu determined: asleep, not dead.

The volume was on so high that Nanu thought his ears might bleed; he hurried over, found the remote at Sullivan's side, and snatched it up to turn the device off. Blissful silence. A touch exasperated, Nanu tossed the remote back onto the couch and took a good look.

In his prime, Sullivan stood a proud, golden-haired titan, tall and strong-shouldered, an intimidating presence. When he barked orders, you listened. When he admonished, you groveled. His name was "yes, sir," and "no, sir."

Now, everything that had been him had shrunk into this withered frame. Strong cheekbones sank; lionized hair shriveled into faint, white wisps; his skin deeply wrinkled; muscles and height depleted as bones receded. He leaned back with limp and restless posture, wrapped in a robe over unwashed pajamas, lips trembling where shallow breaths whistled out. The sheer exhaustion of being alive would be enough to knock him into sleep, but now Nanu saw other contributing factors. A bandage was bound about his head, and a cast enclosed his right hand.

Nanu sighed and nudged his shoulder―gently.

"Sully."

In his sleep, Sullivan's lips tightened into a hard, uneven line.

" _Sully_. Get up."

The elderly man snorted, rolled his head, and blinked open a pair of faint, icy-blue eyes. It took a moment of blinking and stirring out of unconsciousness before he showed any sign of recognition, but at last, his eyes widened, and his uninjured hand flew up to seize Nanu's wrist.

"Nash!" Startled and a bit confused, Sullivan tried to leverage his grip to stand up onto his feet, but he didn't have the strength. His voice was warbly and dry, scratching its way from a worn, parched throat. "When'd you get here?"

"Just now."

Sullivan grasped for both of Nanu's wrists this time, forcing a bit of cooperation until he brought himself up from the couch. He let out a breathy laugh. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes!"

Before Nanu could even hope to put a stop to it, Sullivan turned the simple act of pulling him up into a full embrace; he stiffly wrapped his uninjured arm around Nanu's shoulders, clapped him on the back, and let the hold linger for a bit longer than Nanu liked. He finished the disregard for Nanu's personal space by putting a hand at the back of Nanu's neck and squeezing.

Nanu tolerated this.

"I can't believe it," Sullivan sighed. "I almost didn't recognize you."

Finally, Nanu put an end to the hugging, but he let the man clutch his arm in lieu of his cane, so that he could wobble but still stand. "Hasn't been that long."

"What's that?"

Nanu paused, then raised his voice close to the man's ear. " _It hasn't been that_ _long_."

"H-hold on―" Sully strained his eyes, tilted his head, and muttered, "I'll put my hearing aids in. Where'd I put those―? They might be in the kitchen."

Just when Nanu turned them for the kitchen, there was a thump under the table, and the Growlithe darted toward them. They took their slow steps through the kitchen doorway, and the sight of Nanu dragging its owner about drove it to yap, snarl, and bite the air at the back of Nanu's ankles. It took great restraint for the kahuna not to kick it in the face, but he decided to hurry Sullivan along and place him in a chair.

"Oh, sweetie, sweetie, it's okay." Sullivan burbled babytalk, struggled to bend down, and wrestled the creature into his lap. It squirmed but he cradled it enough to try and reintroduce them. "It's Kuchinashi. Remember?"

The Growlithe licked its muzzle, gave Nanu a wondrous look, then let out a growl. Nanu had only vague memories of meeting the pet on his last visit, so he couldn't blame it for seeing him as a strange intruder.

"She's really very sweet," Sullivan promised. "You can pet her if you like."

Nanu returned the Growlithe's stare and read the dog's face. It said, quite distinctly and with some additional growling, _touch me and I eat your hand_. "I'll… take your word for it, thanks."

Sullivan still couldn't hear him or his sarcasm. "Hmm… Let's see…" The man turned over a few papers but found nothing. He patted the dog's shoulder. "Sweetheart, can you go get daddy's hearing aids? I can't remember―"

The Growlithe responded with a cheerful yelp, flumped onto the floor, and ran into the living room. Within a minute, it returned, wagging its tail and gingerly carrying a small clamshell case in its mouth.

" _There_ they are. Where on earth…?" Sullivan shook his head, but took the case and thanked the pup with a scratch to the forehead. "She's such a big help. Much better at finding things than I am."

The kitchen's condition was a special sort of disgusting. Not only did a stream of garbage line the walls, bags filled and overflowing, but the counter featured stacks of unwashed dishes and food left out to rot. After Nanu sat Sullivan down in the chair, he had wandered toward the sink, which itself was flooded with rancid water and cutlery. Suddenly, he regretted taking his shoes off, because as we walked, he could feel every granule, every sticky spot, every bit of mystery moisture on the floor. He poked a single plate and an entire extended family of roaches spilled out from underneath.

Nanu didn't have much of a gag reflex, but this was pushing it.

"...There." Sullivan gave his hearing aid one last adjustment. "That's better. Did you want any coffee?"

"Uh…" Nanu glanced about. "You have coffee?"

"I've got a percolator somewhere. Try that cupboard there."

Though he had a feeling this would be a dead end, Nanu searched an upper cupboard and found an ancient coffee machine shoved in the corner. It took a bit of stretching to reach it, and once he brought it down, he popped the cover and glanced inside. He found an unchanged filter overrun with a puffy mound of multicolored mold. "When'd you use this last?"

"That thing? Oh, who knows."

How reassuring. Nanu placed it down and resigned to a coffee-less afternoon for now. His eyes wandered, then lingered on Sullivan's arm.

"I don't make coffee much anymore, see, there's this new cafe that opened up a few blocks down, real nice, a Kalos company I think, it really shows in their pastries―I go there just about every day for breakfast, gives me an excuse to get out of the house, good coffee there, and I can get something to eat, small and cheap, and the waitstaff there are real nice, know me by name, including this cute number who― well I know she's just goofing around, but at my age, hey, I'll take whatever flirting I can get―Nash. _Nash_ , have you heard a single thing I've said?"

Nanu blinked to attention, now realizing he hadn't, and so changed the subject. "...What happened, Sully?"

"Huh?"

He bluntly pointed at the hand in a cast.

"This?" The elderly man hushed then fidgeted, embarrassed. "O-oh, right… I guess that's why you're here… Well, it was… My fault, mostly." He rubbed a spot behind his ear. "I was out too late, walking by myself, which I shouldn't... And these two people bumped into me, I thought on accident, but then one of them pushed me to the ground―"

Nanu felt his fingers squeeze on the edge of the counter.

"They didn't do much more than that, but I fell all wrong, busted up my wrist, banged my hip pretty bad, my head, too; they took my wallet and ran. This neighborhood used to be so safe, but still I..."

The image of Sullivan injured and lying on the pavement flashed in Nanu's mind, and it made his blood boil. "Did you file a report?"

"The neighbors that found me―we got to the hospital first, I think a detective came, but I don't…" The man frowned and circled his eyes on the floor. "I don't remember. I might have..."

"Okay. I'll find out." He paused. "Why'd you leave the hospital?"

This question flustered the man; he gave a powerful scoff. "What would be the point of that? Sitting around while they fuss over me. They think because of my age I can't do anything―what do those quacks know? Anyway―you should know I didn't ask them to call you, I didn't want to scare you like that, but I had you as an emergency contact and when I said I had enough and wanted to go home, they went and called you."

Emergency contact? That didn't sound right. "They get in touch with your kids?"

"Oh―no, no." Sullivan met his eyes, saw the surprise in them, and resorted to begging, "And don't you go telling them―they don't have to know."

"I'm not keeping secrets from your family."

"But you know what they'll do. They'll say I can't live here anymore. They already want to stick me in some assisted living place."

Privately, and after re-examining the state of the kitchen, Nanu thought, _maybe they_ ** _should_** _._

Sullivan looked weak and desperate, his faded blue eyes shining with hope. " _Please_?"

More than forty years ago, it would have been Nanu gaping up at the man, eyes big, mouth pleading for mercy (which, to a child, meant not being punished for having done something they shouldn't).

Sullivan, as a good parent, never caved.

Nanu would not have been a good parent.

" _Hrrngh_. All right, all right. I'll... hold off." He rubbed his head, averted his eyes, and grumbled deep in his throat. "Can't promise they won't find out eventually."

As Growlithe settled on the floor at Sullivan's feet, the old man nodded in understanding. "Nash… Hey, Nash, sit down, won't you? You look exhausted."

He _was_ exhausted. And hungry. And thirsty. And overwhelmed. Nanu decided sitting down wouldn't be the worst choice; he collapsed into a chair opposite to the older man.

"I probably forgot to say it, but I'm glad you came," Sullivan assured him. "Even though you really didn't have to."

On the kitchen table, Nanu's fingers slid over mail labeled "PAST DUE." He chose not to comment on it.

"So? Are you staying at a hotel or…?"

"Figured I'd crash on the couch."

"Oh." Sullivan, embarrassed, fidgeted with the hem of his robe. "Well, I _would_ let you, only… That's where I sleep these days." He didn't wait for Nanu to question it. "It's just easier than climbing the stairs every night. Say―your old room's open. I'd offer my bedroom, but it's... Er, it's being organized right now."

"Hmm."

Sensing Nanu's lack of enthusiasm, Sullivan said, "There are some boxes of your stuff, too. I held onto them, in case you wanted any of it."

Nanu glanced out the window. Between the black branches of the yard's trees, the sun was beginning to set. He drummed his fingers and felt a sour note coming on. "Left the junk for a reason."

"It isn't junk. Well, _some_ of it is. But not all of it."

"...Should have burned it."

" _Nash_. Don't talk crazy." Sadly, Sullivan scratched his Growlithe's ears. "Some of it's irreplaceable. At least look it all over before tossing anything." When Nanu didn't argue, Sullivan asked, "How long are you thinking of staying?"

"Erm…" Nanu slumped in his chair, examined the kitchen, and scratched the thready hairs on his head. "I _was_ thinking a few days, but…" He chose not to say that his condition was worse than he thought it would be. "How long's your wrist out of commission?"

"They said it could be weeks, but… I'm really all right here. You shouldn't worry so much."

Nanu grimaced.

"At least it'll be good to catch up. You know, you're still quite the topic of conversation around here."

"That's not reassuring."

"I mean it! Some of your old friends are still around. I get to brag on you all the time."  
"You really shouldn't."

"...And you're so humble about everything, too! You're this big shot in Alola and you act as if―"

"Alola is a small pond, Sully."

For a few minutes, Sullivan poked at him for details about his current life, especially about the shocking news reports coming out of Alola lately, but Nanu kept things vague and dull. He didn't need to excite the old man's imagination.

And eventually, of course, Nanu tired of idle chatter and decided to get himself upstairs. It would evening in not too long, and with his jetlag, he needed to settle in at an hour contrary to his usual night-owl routine.

* * *

The bedroom was smaller than he remembered. Emptier, too. The desk and chair were gone, the posters, the dresser… That the bed and creaky mattress remained was a mercy. A lonesome window faced the westward sun, which peered in like a prying eye and scattered harsh light over the clutter. Boxes and other items stood in piles atop the bed and floor, so he pushed and rearranged what he could, that he could at minimum have a surface for sleep. As Sullivan said, some of the boxes contained discarded and abandoned property of his. At first he ignored this. No need to dust off the unpleasant and painful. But not long after sitting on the bed and staring at a blank white wall, he gave in; his hands were fidgeting, and he wanted to put off his cigarettes as long as possible, because if Sullivan caught sight of it, he'd throw a fit. Nanu grabbed a floor-bound storage box and pulled it toward him.

Dust puffed and flew at his face, and he snorted a cough when he inhaled a whiff. Inside, an eclectic pile of items shoved into one another, most of it junk, as he had surmised. He pushed past the crumbling notebooks and papers, trinkets, clothing, collectibles… (Too many collectibles. As a kid, he'd been a bit of a pack-rat, a symptom of insecurity and too many years being constantly on the move).

Folded and crammed underneath the junk, a leather jacket came into view. He seized it as memories came back. The trim-fit, brown coat was a product of a most particular phase, specifically one associated with the vehicle paired with it.

That dumb, gorgeous motorcycle. He had spent years saving up for it, then babying it and cruising about the city once he finally purchased it. He now found himself wondering if that beauty still rotted away in the toolshed out back. How he used to pine for that thing when he first moved away. Nowadays, his brain could only consider all the ways he might brutally mutilate himself through its misuse; one bad turn, and he'd be mincemeat. No thanks.

The jacket, though, wasn't so hazardous. He held it in his hands, feeling its weight and bulk, and turned it over to its back. It didn't appear damaged, just crimped and a bit faded from improper storage. He must've forgotten it.

"Hmm."

On a whim, he tried it on.

It fit comfortably over his sweatshirt. He hadn't grown much since his twenties, it seemed; in fact, he had probably gone a bit thin. He adjusted the collar and felt the fine, tired leather beneath his fingers. It had to have been expensive. The old man in him thought, _what a waste of money_. And then, _would get too much attention from the kids, anyway_.

Then he realized, _kids aren't here_.

Feeling a sliver of liberation, he kept it on. He rode the good mood and made another scoop into the clutter, successfully grabbing something and bringing it to his lap. It was a binder, and though its exterior had no identifying features, he knew what it contained before he opened it. In fact, in the process of picking it up, a photograph slipped out from between its pages and fell face-down on the floor.

Nanu almost didn't want to pick it up. If he had a choice, he would have left it there for eternity to collect more dust. But he stooped down and slid it upright and between his fingers, and his red eyes only briefly touched on the content of the picture. He kept his processing blunt and analytical. Female, tan, dark-haired, late-thirties. Accompanying male, pale complexion, dark-haired, maybe eight, nine years old…

The album fell open. He found an open page to slip the picture into.

Sullivan wasn't wrong to call these items irreplaceable. The nature of Nanu's upbringing and childhood meant a sparseness in records, and especially pictures. He had plenty of photographs of his life in Viridian City, of course―Anne Marie made sure of that. But the first decade of his life had gone up in smoke.

No baby pictures. No family photos. No embarrassing school portraits.

He had two pictures. They included, but did not solely feature, his parents. They also were not very good.

If you're going to have only one picture of a person, you would hope that it captured something of their essence―that it represented them at their best, or truest. These did not do that. In both, his parents seemed equal parts distracted and caught by surprise, too unfocused to put on an act, too distant to exhibit any personality. They glanced past the camera lens, faces ghostly, eyes alight with red glare. Shadows.

Someone else might pore over the pictures, thumb them, dwell on them. Nanu gave them a cursory glance then flipped them aside. Despite his best effort, he still felt that ancient singe of resentment he thought he'd buried decades ago.

The rest of the pictures were dull. Life in Viridian City: school, graduation, competitions, police academy.

Nanu ended up nodding off when he tried perusing the material on his side. The sleep went deep and far too long, plunging him into frantic, unsettling dreamscapes. He was beset by a column of fire, metal, and glass, its mouth breathing hot air on his face, its ruby throat breaching the sky and scorching it black. He had to get someone out. He couldn't tell who, but he knew he had to do it, _had_ to, before something terrible happened, so he kept venturing into the pit, and monster's jaws lashing at him, and whenever he grabbed hold of someone's arms or legs, they slew apart dark and slick.

He woke up hours later overheated, overtired, head pounding, and a bit sick to the stomach.

* * *

Nanu needed a cigarette.

Limp and starting to feel the creeping stiffness in his spine, he rolled out of bed, groped around in the dark, and found his way into the unlit hallway. He nearly tripped over his Sableye on the way out, as it had rummaged through his things while he slept in search of pretties. He took one suspicious look at it and spotted something silver in color in its grasp.

"Hey. Drop it."

If the object weren't so bulky and hard to carry, the Sableye might have squeaked and hid with it. But it glanced up at its master, diamond eyes full of longing, and plopped the trophy onto the hardwood floor. He would lean down to get it, but his back protested, so he kicked it back into his room.

"I'd let you eat it, but it's not real silver."

He was surprised to find the thing. He didn't remember keeping any of his tournament trophies. Not that the trophies bore bad memories―he didn't resent his inability to get first place. He'd never been an especially competitive kid, and considering the kid who _did_ always get the gold… One couldn't be too disappointed placing as a runner-up.

The upper floor remained undisturbed, and as he glanced past the stairway, he couldn't see, but could properly guess, that Sullivan was either asleep or distracted. Nanu decided this would be an ideal time to sneak out; he snagged the sliding door leading to the upstairs balcony and stepped out. Sableye slipped out with him, and with a silent swoop, it ended up perched on the railing alongside him.

The neighborhood had gone quiet, buzzing with the drone of nocturnal insects, astir only with the passing of an occasional breeze. The dark blue sky extended over the rooftops of the neighboring houses, and the roads glowed with bursts of color where streetlights had turned on for the night. With the sun down and moon up, the temperature had dipped to a soothing chilliness, which was welcome in his current drowsy, clammy state.

He leaned on the railing and smoked, and it was the single most pleasurable action he'd committed in weeks. The nicotine hit him and with worrying immediacy, the cloud of misery, nausea, and muscle pains lifted.

Just as he started to nurse it, though, the noise of opening and closing the door must have roused Sullivan, because lights began to pop in from the house's interior, first downstairs, and then directly behind Nanu. He didn't scramble, despite old instinct warning him to do so. He continued to puff on his cigarette and watched his Sableye crouch like a gargoyle, knowing that it would alert him to any presence behind him. The stairs and creaked loud enough to do that anyway.

The nosey old coot eventually reached the sliding door and pulled it open to poke his head out. "Nash?"

Nanu held the cigarette at his chest and pondered his options. Throw it? Not if he didn't want to start a fire in this dry weather. Instead, he tucked it behind the handrail with his fingers.

"Nash, I wanted to― What are you doing?"

"Oh, you know. Looking at the stars."

A second later, Sullivan asked, already knowing the answer, "Are you smoking?"

"Sully…"

"I can smell it."

Nanu took in a long breath and held it, tempering his irritation best he could. He had not flown all this way to be lectured. He decided to place the cigarette back at his lips and take generous puffs. "Let an old man do his thing, huh?"

But Sullivan retorted firmly, "I don't care how old you are; I don't let people smoke in my house."

Nanu turned around to face him and pointed at the balcony under his feet. "I'm not _in_ your house."

"You know that's not what I mean. You're standing on my property."

 _Oh, boy._

"And don't roll your eyes at me! If you don't like it, go stay at a hotel."

Was it the jacket, or the cigarette, or the standing on that old balcony that suddenly gave him the intense desire to sass back like a bratty teenager? Of course, teenaged Kuchinashi wouldn't have (or at least shouldn't have) dared, lest he get the attitude smacked out of him. Now, there was significantly less risk involved. He could probably get away with it. _Probably_.

But Nanu brought himself back into the moment. This was not an argument between a man and child. This was two old geezers grouching at each other.

He assented, "Fine. I'll take it out front."

"What?"

"I'll go finish this on the street."

When Nanu stepped forward, carrying the burning cigarette with him, Sullivan planted himself. "Well, you're not carrying it through here."

"I can't fly."

"Just―" Sullivan lifted his uninjured hand in surrender. "Please just finish it and be done with it."

Having reached their compromise, Nanu smirked, leaned back, and inhaled sharply. The cigarette curled into a burning stub within seconds. He thought Sullivan would retreat inside, but the man lingered, furrowing his brow, scratching his head. Even though this annoyed him, Nanu tried to keep his tone diplomatic. "You need something else?"

"Oh… No, I only forgot… Shoot. When I heard you getting up, I wanted to tell you..." He took a few seconds longer to think. "Oh! Right. I came up because… Well, I was thinking what all kinds of things you may want to do while in town, and I remembered that a friend of yours stopped by a few weeks ago. I figured I should tell you before I forgot completely."

Nanu straightened onto his feet. His Sableye, sensing the tension in his posture, perked up as well. Of all the things he expected Sullivan to say, this was not one of them. "...What?"

"Yeah! Would you believe it? Just showed up at my door one day, asking about you. Had a million questions. I filled him in on the basics; hope that's okay. Might've have given your number, too, because he said he wanted to get back in touch…"

Nanu gave him an despairing, puzzled look. "Okay, _who_?"

"The name escapes me right now." Sully gestured in exasperation and clutched his forehead. "Wait… Let's see… He was the one… Younger than you, you were schoolmates. You were in competitions together. Dang it, uh…"

What was this sinking feeling? Nanu knew that description could apply to a number of individuals, but one in particular began to float to the top of his consciousness, like a rotten corpse. He couldn't bring himself to say it in the moment, so he stayed quiet, hoping that Sullivan would veer another direction.

"Always got first place." Sullivan strained, then a lightbulb went off, and he snapped his fingers. "The gym leader!"

Not even hearing himself say it, Nanu uttered, "Sakaki."

"That's right! It's funny. I had always assumed he was out of town, hadn't heard about him in ages… Guess he must be doing alright for himself; he pulled up in this nice car, and… Nash, what's with that face?"

* * *

The cigarette fell from Nanu's lip.

Impossible. No, more than impossible.

After all these years.

There was _simply no way_.

* * *

The kahuna lunged forward, startling both the Sableye and the elderly man. He seized Sullivan by the shoulders. "He was _here_?"

"Yes…! Goodness, is something the matter?"

"He was here. You _talked_ to him."

"That's what I said," Sullivan replied, now getting frustrated and a little concerned. "Am I missing something?"

"Did he leave anything?"

"What? No. No, he said he'd contact you―"

Nanu dropped his hands and steamed in silence. All the symptoms came roaring back with a vengeance; he felt everything crash in, the headache, the nausea, the pounding pulse. The worst thought came as he considered the timing. Had this been done on purpose? Had he been _lured_ here like a gullible chump?

Sableye pawed at his pant leg, chittering its unease.

Dry-mouthed and reeling, he pushed past Sullivan into the house. "...'Scuse me."

"Nash!"

"I'm heading out for another smoke," Nanu said, taking the stairs. He waved to the both of them. "You watch TV."

* * *

Nanu stood on the front porch, lit up another cigarette, and made his way to the street.

 _Why now_? _Why him?_ It didn't make sense. There were some people of his past that he considered dead, no longer a part of his story, and he counted the Viridian Gym leader counted as one of them. Nanu hadn't thought about Giovanni in more than ten years, not since the last Team Rocket blow-up, and hadn't seen or heard from him in nearly forty.

He brought out his phone. It was off. He hadn't turned it on since he landed; wasn't like he was planned on any outgoing calls, and he certainly didn't expect any important incoming.

He turned on the phone and checked his history. An unknown caller made contact less than an hour after he landed.

Then again an hour later.

And then again.

No messages had been left, either voice or text.

How was he supposed to interpret this? It seemed desperate―enough to keep making calls to an unresponsive recipient. But not desperate enough to try other avenues, or even to simply show up and pound on the door. The number was blocked, so calling back was impossible. Another sign of caution...

As he tried to think over the roar of his heartbeat and crazed breathing, he couldn't recall seeing any headlines or rumors that hinted at anything stirring in the Kantonian underworld. The region had seen an unprecedented era of quiet, nothing more than the occasional pickpocketing or fistfight.

Nanu planted himself at the street and looked as far into the night as he could. Everything had gone still. The trees stood breathless, the stars cold. His eyes adjusted to the shadows and he couldn't help but scan every branch and path, certain he would find evidence that someone, somewhere lurked in pursuit of him. He knew he was being watched.

From in front of the house, he couldn't see anything. He balanced his new cigarette on his lip and started around the block, where his instinct had led him true: a conspicuous car parked across the way past the corner, tinted windows, engine off. He stopped short and gawked at it, like he expected to be suddenly proven wrong, but eyes were on him―he could tell by the hair raising at the back of his neck.

Standing in the middle of the dead street, he felt his pocket vibrate. He didn't move his eyes from the car, but brought it out, glanced long enough to see the caller ID, and put it to his ear.

"Yes."

" _About time you answered. Step into the car, please_."

...Wasn't him. The voice was male, but too young, too deferential. Nanu guessed the voice belonged to the driver of the vehicle. Nanu squinted but couldn't make out any forms inside. Boldly, he asked, "Is he in there?"

A moment's hesitation, then the caller admitted, " _No_."

"I'm not talking to anybody but your boss."

" _He's very busy_."

"Tough shit."

Nanu hung up and turned back for the house.

A few minutes passed. He started to wonder if they'd give up and shove him in the back of a van. Force was easier than being polite, after all. But Nanu knew one thing about Giovanni: he prided himself in his silver tongue, and would never pass up an opportunity to talk.

He reached the wooden arch of the garden when his phone rang again. Moment of truth. He grasped the phone and answered, muscles so taut that they threatened to snap.

He put on his best unaffected drone. "Yeah?"

A rumbling, resonant voice spoke into his ear. " _Good evening, Kuchinashi. It has been a while_."

* * *

Nanu frowned and tensed his fingers around his cell. He hated phone calls, especially when they put him in conversations of incredible weight. The electronic distortion messed with his ability to hear the subtleties of voices, and without the speaker present, he had no way to read their facial cues or body language. Now, all he had was the facsimile of a man's bravado tone, a mere hint of who he had become. Nanu was at a disadvantage for the moment―and he hated starting at a disadvantage.

"...You got a funny definition of 'a while,'" he said.

" _How is Sullivan doing_?"

Nanu clenched his fists.

" _Not too hurt, I hope_."

"Sore," Nanu replied, desperately trying to flatten the trembling in his voice. "But in high spirits. He ain't the type to stay knocked down."

" _I'm glad to hear it._ " With a deep breath, the man got down to business. " _I need to meet with you as soon as possible. Take everything you need, and my driver will bring you to me._ "

"No. It's late and I need my beauty sleep."

For a while, stunned silence came from the other end. Then, at last, Giovanni's voice returned, prim and professional. " _My apologies. I had hoped to make contact with you earlier in the day. However, time is of the essence._ "

"Your crappy planning isn't my problem."

" _I'm afraid I can't adjust the timeline too much. There's too much risk involved. However, your services are of the utmost importance to me, and I am nothing if not flexible. Given your circumstances and advanced age, please feel free to take another hour to prepare._ "

'Advanced age'!? Nanu huffed but didn't take the bait.

" _Just know that you won't be able to return to your home for some time._ "

"That's going to be a problem."

" _I've already arranged a caretaker to monitor and assist Sullivan while you're gone._ "

"Hmm. Thoughtful of you."

A huffy, low-toned chuckle. " _Hardly. I need you undistracted for the work I have in mind_. _Now, I hope this doesn't need to be said, but to avoid… unpleasantness, you are not to contact any third party about this arrangement._ "

"Whatever. I don't care enough about you to snitch. Let's just get this over with."

Giovanni responded with more amusement. " _Have you changed at all, I wonder? I suppose I'll have to see_."

"Sakaki―"

" _I look forward to meeting you again... Kuchinashi._ "

The line died.


	2. Fell Purpose

Despite being a small place, Viridian City had its secrets.

One of them being its gym leader.

The Viridian Gym itself first broke ground when Nanu was in his teenage years. The league was still forming back then―still a bright, shiny dream of the future. Trainers would sit on the wild grasslands above the construction site and just watch, salivating.

When construction finished years later, the selection process for its leader began, and naturally, Sakaki rose to the top of the candidates. He had all the traits desired by the league's committee: young. A Viridian City native. Responsible. Incredibly strong. Locals knew him well, as he'd been an active member in battle circuits around town, and in school, his peers and instructors all found him impossible to compete with. He had an inborn tendency to excel at everything, and he did not suffer imperfection.

But for most citizens of Viridian, this is where the mystery begins and ends, for after becoming the gym leader at the sprightly age of fifteen and serving that role dutifully for a decade, Sakaki closed the gym and disappeared. He would appear sporadically to do battle, of course, but his presence became so rare that no one could count on challenging the place.

That was the funny thing: no one in the city worried too much about it. Certainly, no one in town investigated it. Officials from the league would pass through and ask questions, and after some private conference with Sakaki or some representative of his, they would leave, curiosity satisfied. Whatever excuse he gave for his absence, they seemed to deem it acceptable, though they never did give these reasons to the public.

Strangely, it stayed a mystery even after the Silph Company incident erupted in the midst of his absence, and after he made his comeback only to lose handily, award two badges, and then vanish permanently, never to be heard from again.

The police never did publicize his face. Not the face of Giovanni, the leader of that notorious criminal enterprise, the man behind atrocities, black market dealings, and hostile takeovers. Whether it was to save the league from embarrassment or to keep police intelligence confidential, Nanu never knew. But it meant only top brass―agents in charge of pursuing Team Rocket―really knew what scandal lay in the quiet city's past.

That Sakaki―Giovanni―dared to linger here spoke to something. A love for the city? A willingness to flaunt his ability to evade capture? Nanu honestly wondered if this meant Interpol had given up on finding him, or at least on actively trying. They had a habit of letting sleeping dogs lie. Nanu would fault them for this, but Interpol had to keep their priorities constantly in alignment with the greatest and most imminent threat, and Giovanni hadn't made a peep in over thirteen years.

So why the noise-making now?

* * *

Even before Nanu got in the car and sat back for the ride, he anticipated where he would be taken. The neighborhood and downtown area fell east of the lake, in the valleys and flat grasslands that were once uncleared forest. Docks and rental vacation homes lined the shore, but these locations dwindled as one traveled to the northernmost or southernmost side of the water, where the outgoing highways and paths wound their way toward neighboring towns or the foot of the mountain range.

At the far west rim of the lake, however, private establishments were shrouded in black coniferous trees and foreboding cliff-sides. To justify traveling that far―at least an hour by car, if driving from downtown―a person would approach such properties only if they had legitimate business there. So for a celebrity in search of privacy, a bestselling author seeking solitude, or a nature-lover hoping to reconnect with the wild, the foothills of Mt. Silver offered all this and more.

If Giovanni remained in Viridian City, he would be there, nestled in a luxury home away from prying eyes.

After over an hour on paved road, the car turned into an unmarked dirt path, and at the far end, the vehicle reached a high, iron gate. The foliage covered their surroundings so thoroughly, that Nanu couldn't see far past the road―only the limbs of yellowed trees and dark underbrush.

The driver engaged a buzzer positioned outside the gate, but said nothing. Peering through his passenger-side window, Nanu could spot the telltale glint of a surveillance camera sitting just above the iron bars. Within a few seconds, like a mystic summons, the gate opened and invited them to drive forward.

The path winding down the hill and toward the house wasn't much different than the land before the gate; it was still a veritable thicket with no signs of taming. Gradually, the veil of leaves parted and the front face of the mansion emerged from the shadows. There, at last, the road turned to driveway of black brick, the grass and plants were manicured and crafted, and garden lights cast an eerie but illuminating glow over the estate.

The house wasn't what Nanu had imagined. But what _had_ he imagined? Some cartoon gothic castle, complete with lightning and glowering gargoyles, or an over-the-top display of wealth in the form of gold fountains and diamond-eyed statues? This mansion was neither. By the light coming from inside and outside the house, it showed itself to have plenty of style: a modest two stories, Kantonian flair in the clay-tile roof, wide windows that pierced the night. But the style looked purposefully understated and private, at least at its exterior.

Maybe it would look different by daylight, he thought. He also couldn't see the rest of the property from here, and deducing by the drive it took to reach the front door from the gate, he could assume the estate was of considerable size.

Finally, the driver, who had remained hidden behind a divider and not spoken a word to him for the entirety of the drive, pulled the car into park and got out to escort him to the front stoop. He noticed the driver's youthful but hard demeanor and wondered if he wasn't a member of Giovanni's gang since relegated to chauffer. That would explain the driver's vaguely bad attitude when he opened the car door for him and led him up the stairs.

Approaching the proud redwood double-doors, Nanu realized that he didn't feel the amount of tension appropriate to the situation. He should be more nervous. But his heart thudded evenly, and his mind, while it wandered a bit, stayed collected and focused on the present. Nanu didn't think he ought to be so confident; he couldn't count on an old relationship keeping him safe from a crime-lord's excesses. He hadn't separated Sakaki from Giovanni in his mind; he didn't believe in duality in that way.

It would still be Sakaki. Just older, shaped by experiences impossible for Nanu to comprehend, and taken to the furthest, most logical conclusion.

A door opened for him, propped by the driver. Nanu nonchalantly placed his hands in his coat pockets and sauntered into the foyer.

He expected a fleet of servants to be milling about, which made the sparseness of the interior all the more shocking. As far as he could see, no other human beings were nearby, and as the door closed behind him, the driver suddenly announced, "Stay here."

"What?"

"Don't touch anything."

The driver beelined for the east wing and left him there.

Nanu glanced warily around himself. The place was empty.

Well, then. At least he had a chance to mill about.

Giovanni had stolen―pillaged, really―the interior design sense of the Kalos region. Everything glowed and shone. The floor was fitted with eye-blinding black-and-white tiles with mirror-like sheen. Marble columns stood on either side of him, and every feature of the room, including end tables, doorways, railing, and ceiling paneling was affixed with either a gold or iron-black accent. Over his head, an opulent, oversized chandelier gave light to the open floor. Some chairs with satin cushion rested at the walls, but no one offered Nanu a seat, and they looked more ornamental than comfortable, anyway.

Most prominently, between the two staircases winding their way to the second floor, hung an enormous ink painting of Mount Silver―must have been at least six feet tall, and another ten in breadth. Its presence loomed and overtook the room, the peak of the mountain rising over a distant landscape, and painted above a swathe of fog and ghostly pine.

The painting stood out as so incongruous with the rest of the decor that Nanu spent a little too long staring at it and wondering about it. He almost didn't hear the echoing patter of dress shoes on tile coming toward him.

"Mr. Kuchinashi."

Nanu blinked and turned to find a towering, bald, suited man approached him, attended by a similarly dressed partner. He had a square, humorless face and had a hand gripping something at his hip, and he looked irritated by Nanu's presence.

Begrudgingly, though, the man said, "Welcome. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

He didn't offer his hand. Nanu didn't mind.

"Where's Johannes?"

"...If you mean the driver, I'm not sure. Maybe he had to go to the little boys' room." Nanu looked him up and down, saw his bulk and frustration, as well as the radio at his hip, and deduced, "You're security?"

The man's brow crumpled, and he released a sharp exhale. He didn't seem to appreciate Nanu's attentiveness or the driver's mistake. "We'll need to pat you down."

"Have at it."

The pat-down, as administered by the man's partner, revealed little aside from his wallet, phone, and cigarettes. But as soon as the phone was drawn from his pocket, the security head snatched it.

"...I kinda need that."

"I can't allow outgoing calls," the man grunted. In a smooth, well-practiced motion, he slipped off the phone's cover and pried the battery out, then dropped the disassembled item into his own pocket. "If you have an emergency, we can set up a secure line at another time."

"Well, the thing is, I have an emergency now."

The security head, puzzled, awaited an explanation.

"Some creep's gone and abducted me."

"I think you'll find that's not the case," the man crossly hurried to say. "My employer will clear everything up for you."

"Uh-huh." Nanu looked him in the face and still saw an edge to his expression. "...You don't seem all that happy to see me."

The man went stone-faced.

"Lemme guess. You advised 'your employer' not to bring me here. And he did it anyway." Nanu scratched the inside of his ear. "That's him for you."

The man flinched and sucked in a heated breath, like he had been ready to say something unpleasant but caught himself in time. "We shouldn't keep him waiting. This way."

* * *

Everything was as expected. Typical. Nanu had run through this scenario many times before: follow the man down the hall, tread on expensive carpet, note the artwork on the wall, say nothing. When they reached a conspicuous door, the security head murmured a message into his wrist before prying it open and allowing the three of them to step inside the office.

What to expect there, then? Nanu saw first a desk in the center of the room―lavish, a dark, brooding color with papers and utensils arranged in exacting order―and the desk's leather chair facing away. He almost let himself think that Giovanni was seated there, gazing out the window, wine glass swirling in one hand, maybe a cigar in the other, like a spy movie villain. But the chair was noticeably empty.

Nanu missed him at first, understandably. The only light source in the dim office was the small, emerald-domed desk lamp illuminating documents of import; without overhead light, the rest of the room had mixed visibility. Only by sweeping his vision to the side did Nanu spot some bookshelves sporting an eclectic mix of old tomes and texts, touching on topics as diverse as market theory, history, mythology, and microbiology. A shadow lingered near them and quite suddenly shuddered to life, seeming to grow out of the din: a body draped in black, composed of sharp and cruel edges, emerging from the stillness of the office corner.

A pale hand, which just replaced a book on the shelf, withdrew back into the shadow. Then a head turned―this made the form more obvious, as light began to fracture and piece together a suggestion of a face. The features were strong―bone-breaking in hardness―and the eyes narrowed and glowed with a familiar keen glint.

"Sir."

Hearing one of the security team speak startled Nanu; he'd almost forgotten they were there.

"Do you need anything else?"

The man in shadow spoke, his voice clear, deep, and restrained. "No. That will be all. Leave us."

Nanu, though, cut in before security could leave. "How about some light?"

"I suppose it has gotten dark," the man in black commented loftily, like this wasn't completely on purpose. "I've been in here all evening, so I didn't notice. Strauss―"

The head of the security team nodded and reached for the light panel. With the overhead lights on, the room was left bare and open, and the two guards left.

"Well, let's have a look at you," Giovanni said.

* * *

Giovanni had the sort of presence that could either impress one or make one's skin crawl, depending on how the situation read. He put on airs of grace and composure, utter control of his faculties, attention to the most minute of details. Not a wrinkle in his black tailored suit. No unpolished spot on the gold band of his watch. No missed chances. No hesitation to his words. He had charm, too, when he chose to employ it, but it was not a bubbly charm that put men at ease, but a slippery, dastardly sort, that no one fell for without knowing exactly the devil's maw to which they willingly surrendered themselves.

His face looked perpetually locked into an expression of near severity, as if one errant word might make his brow and mouth twist into a true scowl. The slope of his head and jawline certainly made his face appear incompatible with such emotions as levity, relaxation, or joy, though for now, Nanu decided he looked more pensive than malicious.

Giovanni stood at an impressive height, especially compared to Nanu, who only seemed to shrink with age; as Giovanni approached, Nanu had to tilt his head back to meet his gaze. The man had his shoulders back and milked the difference in stature for all it was worth, to which Nanu responded only by slouching with more abandon. Was he supposed to be self-conscious? Giovanni had been taller than him since tenth grade. _Yeesh, get over it._

Nanu noticed only a few, small signs that proved Giovanni had aged: some gray hairs, some wrinkles touching the edges of his eyes and mouth. He hadn't apparently resorted to dyes or chemical agents in fighting the effects of time, instead resolving to face change with some grace. That was something, at least.

As Nanu finished his observations, though, Giovanni had evidently finished his own examination and came to a disappointed conclusion. He crossed his arms and let his face edge ever-closer to a frown. "I'm afraid you haven't aged as gracefully as I hoped."

"Uh." Nanu, puzzled more than he was offended, grimaced. "Is that a problem?"

Giovanni seemed to ponder this, tapping a finger at his chin, then conceded simply, "No, it shouldn't be."

"Great." Nanu met his eyes unflinchingly and snorted. "So. This is uncomfortable. Hope you weren't expecting a hug."

Giovanni's look of stern disapproval broke a little then. A smirk tugged at his mouth and he answered with some unexpected warmth, "Let's agree to be professional." He extended a hand with fat, gold rings gathered at his knuckles.

Nanu looked, but didn't reach out himself. An uneasy, bitter feeling caught up in his throat, and it made his voice sour. "...Sakaki. I'm gonna need you to tell me what's going on."

"I need your help." After a pregnant pause, Giovanni slid his hand back to his side, a bit defeated. He then added with a smarmy smile and hint of self-aware humor, "Please."

Nanu narrowed his eyes at him. "Really. And how'd you know I was going to be in town?"

"It should be fairly obvious to you that I've been tracking you."

"...Nah, that's not quite right."

"Hmm?"

"The fact that you sought _me_ out means you're desperate. And desperate people don't leave things up to chance," Nanu grunted. "You knock at Sullivan's door asking about me, and a few weeks later, I get a call about him getting mugged. I have this funny feeling that wasn't a coincidence."

Giovanni sighed, though he didn't appear displeased. He placed a hand at the back of a reading chair and leaned against it as he thought aloud. "Your instincts haven't waned, clearly. You're right." He picked a speck of lint from his collar with an air of indifference. "You will accept my apology, though, because it had to be done. I knew you wouldn't come back to Kanto for my sake. Regretful, I know. I even told them to be gentle, but he is a brittle old man."

Nanu didn't lose his temper often, and he could normally maintain his composure regardless. But now, his arms moved before the hot bolts of fury could travel from his brain. He saw red, and in the next second, his feet flew, his forearms crashed, and his hands had seized and yanked on the lapels of Giovanni's suit. With no surface behind the man he currently assaulted, he almost succeeded in toppling him to the floor. He snarled. "You got some goddamn nerve!"

Giovanni fumbled slightly to regain his footing, but showed no fear. He peered down at Nanu's hands where they twisted into his coat.

"Your goons so much as breathe in his direction, I'll knock your brains out!"

A tight grin overshadowed Giovanni's surprise. "Good… You've still got that fire I remember…" He solidified his cool gaze with Nanu's. "Kuchinashi. Sullivan is safe. You have my word."

As much as Nanu would like to take that moment to teach him a real lesson, he was acutely aware of security standing just outside, and besides, judging by Giovanni's size and fitness, Nanu would, if he picked a fight in this position, likely take more of a beating than he would deal out. The suit disguised the girth of Giovanni's muscles, but he breathed punishing strength.

Better for Nanu to retreat before he lost any face.

With a stiff jerk, he released his grip and stalked back a step. "Guess I got no choice but to believe you."

"I'm so glad that's settled," Giovanni said, pleased. He dusted and straightened his suit jacket. "Now, I'm sure you're wondering what I need from you. Will you hear me out, old friend?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Giovanni, smiling knowingly, ushered him for the chair before his work desk. "Have a seat."

It was a nice chair, at least. Good cushioning. Nanu flopped into it and felt himself slide downward, until his chin rested close to his chest. On the wall behind the desk, he could see various items framed with care: awards for Giovanni's accomplishments as a gym leader, diplomas, a gold-plated Earth Badge sealed behind glass. One award made of engraved, jade glass sat on the desk―given by the League for his years of service. Nanu found it strange that Giovanni kept these signs of endorsement from individuals who now disavowed him and, last Nanu heard, had started the quiet process of wiping his contributions from the League's history. But maybe Giovanni took it as a point of pride. Nanu could even sense nostalgia from the plaques and pictures―a sense of longing.

While Giovanni took position in his own chair, a Persian, who had only just roused at hearing all the commotion, slinked around the desk and toward Nanu. It had the sleek, cream color of the Kantonian breed, and lithe muscles from years of training. It approached boldly to sniff at him, and within a few moments, it began to chitter and forcefully rub its snout at his hand. Its sharp canines dragged over his knuckles as it started to purr, and play bites left fleshy indents at the joints of his fingers. Nanu did his best to ignore it―cats getting mouthy on him wasn't new―but made a few, paltry attempts at shoving the heavy beast away.

Giovanni didn't comment or seem bothered by this. He probably let the creature claw and gnaw everyone. It must be cheaper than investing in chew-toys. Instead, he looked on in amusement and wove his fingers together. "Kuchinashi, were you aware that as a kahuna, you hold special rights? You're classified by law as a 'provider of religious services,' much like a priest, and as such, you cannot be subpoenaed for any information provided in the course of enacting religious services."

"You mean, like during a confession."

"Or a counseling session."

Nanu didn't like where this was going, but scratched behind the pushy Persian's ear to show his calm. "...Doesn't come up much in what I do."

"But you see, this makes matters simple for both of us. In fact, compounded with all other factors, this makes you the perfect man for this job." Giovanni straightened his shoulders, crossed his arms, and announced in clear, commanding tone, "Kahuna Nanu. I am requesting spiritual guidance for my time of great difficulty―and I expect the fullest extent of privacy."

"Relax," Nanu mumbled. "There's no magic words or dance to it. I got it. Keep it to myself; no going to the cops."

Giovanni hesitated a beat. (That wasn't normal.) "Then let me get straight to the point," he said. "There's a group causing me trouble."

"A 'group'?"

"Have you ever heard of the Black Dragon Clan?"

Nanu frowned. "No." He mulled on the name a while, hoping some detail or memory might fly to the forefront of his mind, but nothing came to him. "What are they? Biker gang? Kung-fu assassins?"

"They are… Not from around here." Giovanni's tone turned from cautious to vaguely troubled; he pressed his fingers into the sleeves of his coat. "It's a group that holds great political power in one of the four major provinces in Chunam; it's dynastic, which means its ringleader and members mostly come from a family with a long history in that region. This recent generation of the clan has become more violent and unpredictable. As of late, they've come to manufacture, sell, and use firearms to overpower their enemies, but while they have so far limited their bloodthirst to local rivals, their reach and ambition are expanding…"

Suddenly, Nanu tilted back with a loud yawn; he rubbed a hand over his weary eyes.

Giovanni paused his explanation until Nanu regained his composure, and didn't conceal the wrinkling of annoyance at his brow. "...I'm sorry, am I boring you?"

"Nah," Nanu answered, then stifled another yawn. "Had a long flight. Don't you have this all written down somewhere? I'd rather read it than hear you blab on about it."

After a bit of internal wrestling, Giovanni allowed a smile. "I can be long-winded. I'll summarize: they have reached Kanto, and they have threatened myself and my livelihood."

"Hmm." Nanu rested his chin in his hand. "Can't say I'm shedding tears over your _lost livelihood_."

Giovanni feigned offense and put on a rather unconvincing air of propriety. "Perhaps this will be hard for you to believe, but I'm finished with my criminal past. Team Rocket is finished; I run a legal business now, and I've done well for myself."

 _Legal, aside from using the occasional thug-for-hire_. "You're right," Nanu grunted icily. "I don't believe you. So you've given up on Team Rocket. Just like that?"

"That dream died a decade ago. I tried once to revive it, but…" He glanced at the far wall, like he was avoiding something important. A flash of old pain crossed his expression. "I've moved on."

"Mm-hmm. Well, if you're so squeaky-clean, what do these jokers want with you?"

Giovanni shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure. They have not shown themselves to be reasonable. My only guess is they see me my existence as a threat. They intend to stamp out any and all persons with past connection to Team Rocket―to salt the earth."

"An' what exactly do you plan to do about it?"

"Get to them first."

"And give them a stern talking-to?"

Giovanni was silent.

"...I'mma pretend that's what you mean. Hey, y'know… If they're such a nuisance, maybe you oughtta call the cops."

" _Surely_ you jest," the man countered crossly. "I may be living a new life, but I'm still a wanted man. In any case, that's why you're here; you're the solution to my problem."

"Whatta you want from me?"

"I would like you to… In a manner of speaking… 'Guide' me 'spiritually' to their bases of operation and leadership."

Nanu slumped back in his seat, still resting his chin in his hand. He dwelled on those words for an agonizing length of time without speaking, though the crook to his eyebrow foreshadowed his skepticism. "Uh- _huh_ ," he finally murmured. "That's, uh… Very cute. But I gotta say… That's not a kahuna job."

"You were an exceptional detective in your time. You have the necessary skill-set." The suited man could already see Nanu's interest dwindling. "I am willing to pay generously. I would also cover any costs you might incur during your investigation. I have clout and resources enough, too, that should you need any specific favors―"

"Put the flowers and the chocolates away." Nanu groaned, sat up, and cracked his joints as he stretched to his feet. He turned for the door. "Sorry. Can't help. I'm not getting involved in some gangster slap-fight."

But Giovanni, too, rose to his feet. "And I'm afraid I can't simply let you go," he said, a hint of threat now in his voice. "The stakes are too high."

Nanu sighed and shook his head morosely. He glanced over his shoulder. "What is it? Competition keeping you from affording a second pool? Might have to sell off a limo or two?"

"These men are more aggressive and violent than the usual breed of criminal. They seek to do me harm, and in lieu of finding and ending me, they have shown they are willing to target individuals close to me."

Nanu felt his eyebrow twitch. _Individuals_?

"It's my son," Giovanni revealed. "They've tried to kill my son."


	3. Dark Hour

Nanu had sworn to himself not to be caught by surprise by anything. Not to let anything punch him in the gut or let him lose his nerve.

But this made him stumble.

"You have…?"

Nanu tried to stop himself, but Giovanni noticed; he looked both perplexed and surprised. "You didn't know."

"I―" _Dammit. Don't stammer_. "―'M apparently not keen on a lot of things. Criminy. You went and reproduced, huh?" He tried to think of anything to say, anything at all, that wouldn't sound stupid. "Just the one?"

A slow smile emerged over Giovanni's expression. "Yes. Just the one."

Until that moment, Nanu had been able to overlook the vast gap of time; he could speak naturally, see Giovanni as the person he once knew, albeit with some profound physical changes. In short, Nanu hadn't felt their age. But talking of sons… That snapped him into the present. A lot of life had gone on since their paths separated. They had grown up. Gotten _old_.

He knew he shouldn't let this humanize the man. Any idiot can have kids. But all of a sudden, he had to recognize Giovanni as a _father_ , and that term ripped at him.

Then Nanu remembered Sullivan battered and bruised on a cold street, and he felt a resurgence of resentment. He bound up his fists. "Doesn't change anything. It's not my problem."

Giovanni must have counted heavily on Nanu's sympathy, because without warning, he became frustrated. "You're not moved? Silver may be my descendant, but he has nothing to do with my past operations. To your mind, he should qualify as a wholly innocent victim."

"Innocent people can go to the police."

This gave Giovanni some pause; he opened his mouth, then shut it again and took a moment to ponder his response. His brow furrowed. "There's some truth to that," he soon reluctantly admitted, "but Silver is unwilling to do so. He has it in his mind that he will resolve the issue on his own. Obviously, I can't risk him doing something so reckless, so for now, I'm holding him in my custody."

 _And the plot thickens_. Nanu marveled at Giovanni's boldness. "You've snatched him, too?"

"I'm keeping him safe," Giovanni corrected. "As much as he refuses to understand that." For a few moments, he wore a tense, frustrated expression that hinted at further trouble, but as he glowered and thought, his Persian, tired at last of pestering his house guest, wound back around the desk to push its forehead against his side. Its rumbling chirp made him greet it with a scratch to the ears, then lightened his mood. "I understand your resistance, but the situation can't be helped. You will have to stay here until further notice. I'll introduce you to my son; perhaps talking with him can lend you some insight."

... _Family reunion it is, then_.

* * *

Giovanni led him to the guest house, and it wasn't a far walk. They exited the main house at the back and were immediately set upon by the pair of security guards, who silently shadowed them wherever they went without Giovanni's say. Whether they acted from prior orders or out of stubborn, insistent loyalty, Nanu couldn't tell, but their boss didn't scold them for their hounding.

From behind the main house, Nanu could make out some of the extent of the property: they followed a stone footpath tracing the border of a garden which spread across a plateau overlooking the moon-bathed lake. Though he couldn't see everything in the moonlight, the sand of the rock garden gleamed like silk, its traced patterns rippling out in waves, and oblong, strange figures of black rock were configured like islands sitting on a glassy sea. A more verdant garden spilled down over the hillside, with trees, bushes, and ponds, but the pathway to the guest house went inland and thus in the other direction. The aesthetic only became more eastern as they went on, until they walked up stone steps approaching a wooden platform―the front face of the guest house―which featured paneled, sliding doors covered in delicate rice paper.

The weather had cooled, sending a chilly, wet autumn breeze across their backs. Nanu realized then he still wore his motorcycle jacket, and he was thankful for the layering.

Nanu expected Giovanni to jabber about his estate and to brag about his design choices and extravagance. Instead, he walked silently ahead of him. Not in the mood to play tour guide, Nanu guessed. As he thought on it, he also realized that Giovanni could have easily passed this job off to an employee―escorting him on the grounds really ought to be a task for a lowly employee. Was the man that bored? Now that he thought about it, Nanu so far found the staff to be on the thin side. Weren't as many workers as he expected, especially for a property this large.

...Hopefully this was only a reflection of the night-time schedule, and not a chronic issue.

Upon sliding open the front door of the guest house, they reached a threshold leading to clean, pine floorboards lined with house slippers, as traditional Kanto homes did not allow outside shoes. Giovanni did not exempt himself of these expectations, and so in a few fluid motions, he stepped out of his shoes and into the house, leading by example. Nanu followed.

"This is the commons area that you'll share," Giovanni commented as they passed a broad, open space with furniture and items of comfort. They looked lightly used, perhaps never used at all, like they were on display in a model home. "You'll find a kitchen, though you can expect meals at the main house. I'm sure you'll find everything to your liking, but if there's anything else you require, let me know."

"...Uh-huh." Leave it to Giovanni to talk about a hostage situation like a weekend stay at a bed and breakfast.

Somehow, Giovanni sensed his impatience and led them quickly through. A hallway featuring many doors and rooms led them to their destination; Giovanni stopped at one particular door, behind which came the illumination of television and light, and grabbed at the handle, ready to slide it open without announcement.

But Nanu cleared his throat and placed a palm at the frame, stopping him. What Giovanni lacked in manners, Nanu had learned from hanging around young people. "This his room? Lemme save you some grief. _Knock first_."

Giovanni blinked at him, withdrew his hand from the door frame, then took his advice. With a rap of his knuckles against the frame, he alerted the resident to their presence, and from inside, a dull, irritated voice emerged.

" _Who is it_?"

If Nanu didn't know better, he'd almost think Giovanni looked nervous when he answered, "It's your father."

Silence. Then a sigh.

Undaunted, Giovanni persisted. "May I come in?"

" _Whatever_."

Nanu grunted and glanced over at his host, commenting surreptitiously, "Sounds like a charmer."

"He's adjusting to new circumstances," Giovanni said. "Be understanding."

They entered the private living area to find a smaller room floored with tatami and arranged with floor-level cushions arranged about a table. A television blared sound and images across from the seating area, and the room was littered with clothing and the debris of being lived in. The bamboo mats had broken seams, burns, and scratched surfaces from claw marks and teeth, which made sense when Nanu spotted a dozing Houndoom settled on the couch. The mess might indicate a messy occupant, or… malevolence.

Laying on his side next to his Houndoom, propped up on an elbow, there was a sour-faced young man.

Nanu had never been very good at matching children with their parents. He always seemed to imagine perfect copies, or miniatures of the original, and so now, he entered the room expecting to find someone matching his memories of Giovanni as a youth. Someone dark-haired, sharp-eyed―a scholar and a thinker, and most of all, a dominator.

But the young man whom Giovanni referred to as "Silver" looked, at first glance, nothing like his father. It was the thick red hair that contrasted the most strongly: a strong red like flame, and with enough length to drape down his chest as he relaxed on cushions. To Nanu's mind, the twenty-something appeared more pampered and entitled than intelligent; maybe it was the name-brand clothing (including a svelte dark turtleneck sweater), or the silver watch banded at his wrist, or the pompous sniff that inhaled through his nostrils when he saw Nanu. Then Nanu noticed the belt holster linked with Ultra Balls on the table. Kid was a trainer―and a serious one at that.

Silver had a hard look, tense shoulders and facial muscles, taut lips―all meant to communicate toughness and strength. Nanu had lost count how many young men he'd met with that same expression. But behind the frustration and bitterness, Nanu could see trauma clear as day. The kid was shaken, and trying hard not to look it. The sleeping Houndoom lifted its head and whistled its concern toward its owner, who shunned its attempts at pawing his thigh.

Silver's eyebrows and teeth clenched as he focused his gray eyes on Giovanni. "What do you _want_?"

The curtness in Silver's voice made Nanu consider that perhaps he did share _some_ things with his paternal lineage.

"I'm sorry to bother you this late," Giovanni began, "but I need to speak with you." Talking over an announcer's commentary finally bothered him enough to cause him to say, "Turn off the television."

For a moment, Silver acted like he might put up a fight. He glowered, picked up a remote, and muted.

"Silver, I have someone to introduce to you."

Silver needled Nanu with his unimpressed gaze. After flinging the remote onto the table, his eyes scrawled back to the screen to watch the broadcast of a local tournament. "Great," he muttered. "Another lackey."

"This is Officer Kuchinashi. He's here to help."

" _This_ shriveled-up prune is supposed to _help_?"

Sounding tired and not-at-all stern, Giovanni said, "He's an old friend; mind your manners."

"'Salright," Nanu grunted, grinning and scratching his head. "I'm used to hooligans mouthing me off." He took a lazy, ambling step toward the young man. "You can call me Uncle."

Silver didn't look away from the screen. "Thanks. I won't."

...It would obviously take more time and doing to win this kid over. No matter. He could get what he wanted for now. "Your father tells me there was an attempt on your life." Nanu leaned in the direction of the flickering screen, thereby obscuring the kid's view and further irritating him. "If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to hear about it from you."

"That's why my dad hired you?" Silver tilted his head to maintain view of the screen. "He's exaggerating. And I don't need your help."

Now, Nanu stood directly in front of the screen. "Maybe not. But _something_ happened, didn't it."

For a time, Silver didn't answer, but glared up at him with unconcealed hatred. His nerves showed in his hands, though―his fists bound up and shook.

The true cause of Silver's reluctance to speak became clear. Nanu turned. "... All right. We're gonna need a moment."

Giovanni lingered in place, evidently uncertain.

"Go on, pops." Nanu waved him off dismissively. "We'll holler if we need you."

The man read the situation, cast his calculating gaze on the two of them, and announced, "I'll be right outside."

Silver rolled his eyes, but Nanu accepted the terms with a pleased nod. When at last the two of them were alone, Nanu didn't waste another second: he snagged the remote off the table and powered off the screen.

"Hey!" Silver shot up into upright position, frothing at the mouth. "I'm watching that!"

"Don't care."

A tremendous, disgusted sneer drew up Silver's lip. "I could take you, old man."

But Nanu ignored this threat and crossed his arms, assuming a dominant position like he was about to address a naughty child. "Listen, punk," he growled, "I was dragged into this just like you, so you can stuff the attitude. Way it stands, we don't have much choice but to hash this out."

The kid took a while to acquiesce, but after sliding back into lounging position and realizing his quandary, he sucked his teeth. "Tch. Typical. Dad getting some no-name to do his dirty work for him."

Nanu would have liked to quibble with being characterized as a _no-name_ , but that felt unnecessarily petty.

"Okay. Whatever. You're here. Now how exactly do you plan to 'help'?"

"Let's start with easy stuff. Tell me about you. You're a trainer, right?"

"Yeah, _wow_." The redhead gave him a withered stare as he pat his Houndoom on the head. "Some observational skills. I can see why my dad hired you."

"You any good?"

Silver took the bait by heaving and spitting, "Of course! What do you take me for? I've been through a bunch of championships; beaten some leagues, even."

"A career trainer?"

"Uh." For the first time in their conversation, Silver wavered and looked vulnerable. "I mean, I kinda was. For a while. I'm… sort of trying other stuff now."

"Like what?"

"I'm…" Something about the next detail made him hesitate. "Attending school in town."

 _In town_? The kid chose a conspicuous place to live, considering his father's identity. "Yeah? Studying what?"

Silver glanced away, rubbing his head, then admitted like he knew it was a scandal, "...I'm in the Ranger Academy."

Nanu was overcome by a stiff cough; gobsmacked and speechless, he studied the kid thoroughly, thinking he'd missed something. This spoiled spawn of the elite? _A ranger?_ He finally managed to ask out of his disbelief, "So, you're into hippie stuff, huh?"

"What?"

"Rangers tend to be a buncha tree-hugging environmentalists. You must really care about pokemon if you wanna join 'em."

"Oh." Silver stared at a faraway wall and twirled a thread of red hair around his finger. "...Sure. You know. Saving pokemon… and the trees… and stuff." That wasn't a glowing moment of enthusiasm, and the kid must have sensed it, because he followed up, "My dad hates it."

"...Ah." Nanu shook his head. "I gotta say… It's not what I expected."

"Why not?"

Nanu arched an eyebrow. "For one thing, you don't exactly seem… outdoorsy."

"What do you know!? You only just met me!"

"Your nails are manicured."

As if unsure, Silver flashed his eyes at his fingertips, then shoved his hands hastily into his pockets, face flushed. "S-so what!? Guys can get manicures―it's like, normal now―!"

Nanu lifted a hand to shush him. "Look―I don't really care about your spa routine. Just seems like it's an awful involved way to piss off your father."

"Who says that's why I'm doing it? Anyway, it doesn't matter. This whole... thing is messing up my schedule. My team's supposed to go on a survival excursion in a few weeks, and now I'm stuck here, and it's my dad's fault, so―" Silver frowned at his Houndoom, and suddenly looked more downcast than angry. He sighed. "I can't escape it, can I? It's like no matter what I do, he drags me down with him."

Finally, something connected; Nanu felt his first, genuine throb of empathy. Trapped in the web of a father's making―suffering his consequences even when pursuing one's own life. Yeah… Nanu knew something of that.

Unexpectedly, though, while Nanu dwelled on this shared angst, Silver took advantage of the lull in conversation to interrogate him in turn. The young man queried hungrily, "So… Who are you? Do you, like, know my dad somehow?"

After weighing the advantages and disadvantages of answering, Nanu said, "...We know each other. To an extent."

"How, though? He said you were a cop. Did you work for him? Or did you used to investigate him or something? Undercover, or―"

Nanu politely cut him off. "Story's not nearly that interesting. We grew up in the same town. That's all."

"Oh." Silver ruminated, but his interest actually piqued rather than waned. "Like, as kids?"

"Mmm."

"Were you friends?"

Giovanni had casually referred to him as 'an old friend,' hadn't he. Nanu wondered how much Giovanni had chosen to remember. He pushed a hand into his pocket to fidget. "You should ask your father."

"He's not gonna tell me," Silver scoffed. "Dad wants me to think he was never a kid. Like he sprung out of the ground all grown up."

Nanu saw the burning curiosity in the kid's face. He wasn't shocked; Sakaki had never been big on sharing personal details with anyone. The kahuna saw his chance to barter. "I'll tell you _one_ thing about us, and then you tell me what happened with you. Deal?"

It didn't take long for Silver to decide. He set his eyes on the kahuna carefully, as if expecting him to spring some trap at the last second. "Okay."

With a puff of air, Nanu rummaged through several decades of memories to come up with something juicy and relevant. Ah. He shrugged and volunteered, "I used to beat him up for his lunch money. Now, can I sit down?"

"You―" Silver stopped. He cracked a hesitant smile, like he couldn't quite decide if he thought this was a joke. "What?"

"My feet are tired."

"Wait. Is that―is that true?"

"Yeah; been standing and walking a while."

"No! I mean… You know what I mean!"

Nanu waved boredly. "Don't look so confused. This was ancient history. Gimme that cushion there."

* * *

On the tatami mat, Nanu set down the cushion and joined Silver at the floor-level table. It took him a few more seconds than it would have in his youth, as he had to lean down without destroying his already-strained spine and fold his legs under him without causing undue pain. But eventually, Nanu found a way to be comfortable and seated, which gave Silver time to come to terms with telling his story.

He still didn't look happy about it.

Nanu stretched and cracked some sore joints in the process. "Alright, now. Just give me the gist, Red."

Silver scooted himself to face toward the wall. The bravado in his tone faltered, and he flattened his voice, intending to retell events in the most detached manner possible. "Well... Look, I don't _know_ that they were trying to kill me," he said. "That's just Dad making assumptions. But they definitely tried to grab me."

"Where'd this happen? And when?"

"In town, a couple days ago. I was walking to my apartment, cutting through the usual alleys. It was pretty late, I guess… Nine, ten o' clock. I heard people running up behind me, and then… It felt like five or six people on me, but it was probably two? Anyway, they put their hands on me and before I knew it, they were trying to get me into this van―"

"Did you see or hear the van roll up on you?"

"No," Silver said, lifting his eyebrows like the detail only now occurred to him. "No, it was parked already. I didn't notice because there are always vans back there, unloading stuff. Anyway, it happened fast. I tried to fight them off. But my Weavile…" His staunchly objective attitude changed. He twisted his fingers into a tight knot at his sleeve. "He heard what was happening, and he came out of his ball to protect me… I thought they might bring out their own pokemon to fight, but all of a sudden, this noise started―really loud, too loud, and right near my head. That was when I realized they had guns. They had guns and they were open firing―" Silver shut his eyes and quavered. "I hadn't seen guns before, except in movies. Of course I freaked. Everything went so crazy, all the shouting and the explosions, so I managed to throw them off and slip away. I ran. I ran so far―and then I realized I left Weavile behind, so I ran back. The van was gone. Weavile was…"

When Silver drifted off, Nanu feared the worst.

But the kid saw his look of pity and hurried to reassure him. "He's… gonna be okay. Those assholes couldn't aim. All those shots, and they only hit him twice. Nowhere fatal."

It was no wonder Giovanni said Silver had expressed the desire to hunt the men down himself. The gunmen hadn't merely targeted him, but nearly killed one of his partners. Nanu could sympathize, as foolhardy as such a revenge quest would be. "Did you call the police?"

Snort. "No. What could they do? I ran to the nearest Pokemon Center to get help, and I called my mom." Silver frowned bitterly. "Big mistake. She went and called _him_ , and before I knew it, his goons forced me into another car, and I ended up here."

Nanu imagined that a dozen shots being let off downtown would attract some police attention, victim report or no, but he would need to check the dispatch records. He took a mental note. "Did they say anything to you? Or to each other?"

"No." Silver answered too quickly, because a moment later, he retracted, "I think. Nothing to me. But they might've―something in a different language." After some contemplation, he recalled, "When Weavile came out, they yelled something, but I couldn't make it out. _Mm_. Ma? Mod? Mojo?"

"Majuu."

Shocked, Silver responded, "Maybe. What's that mean?"

To Giovanni's credit, at least _one_ detail added up. Nanu scratched his chin. "It's not important. You notice anything else? Tattoos? Anything on their clothes?"

The questions started to agitate the young man. "It was too dark to see. Why?"

"Has your father told you who they are?"

"Just that they're rivals of his."

That would be, then, everything Silver knew. Nanu clapped his hands on his knees, heaved a sigh, and felt a wave of exhaustion fall over him. With another sharp exhale from his nostrils, he murmured, mostly to himself, "Alright, then. That's what we've got..."

"Um." Silver watched his thoughtful posture and interrupted with a tremendous harrumph of impatience. "So, Officer… Whatever your name was? What is it you plan to _do_?"

"Investigate."

"You should let me help."

Nanu peeled an eye open and saw the kid's overearnest zeal appear again. He groaned. "Slow down, kid. Don't even know what we're dealing with. 'Sides. Your father might have something to say about that."

Bristling, Silver barked, "I don't care! I'll do what I have to, to get back at those bastards―!"

"Best to leave that stuff to the experts," Nanu said coolly. He began to work his way back to his feet; back to cracking his joints and surviving the pains shooting up his spine. He put a hand at the sore curve but put on a hard face. "In any case, it's late. We'll talk more in the morning."

Silver had options. He could have argued with him some more, sassed him, persisted in challenging him. But the boy slumped back, slid his eyes back to the television, and pawed over the table for the remote. The anger in his face gave way to begrudged disillusionment, and he punched up the volume, filling the room with noisy, boisterous battle commentary. "Yeah… Whatever."

Nanu couldn't have said it better.

* * *

Giovanni hadn't stayed "right outside." In fact, Nanu left the room, entered the hall, and went as far as the entranceway before realizing that the man no longer stood inside the building, but had wandered out into the front passage and sat on the wooden platform painted in golden garden lamp-light, with his legs dangling over the edge of the grassy hill. It felt like incongruence, seeing this man in a business suit lounging and caught in a moment of introspection. Nanu experienced a sudden and unwanted flash of memories then―all the times of sitting and waiting, boys on benches, boys on handrails, boys at the dock looking out over the lake and waiting for life to happen.

The two body guards stood a ways off on the grass, looking onward like wary prey. Giovanni ignored them and had his face stuck to the white luminescence of a phone screen. With a dizzyingly quick swipe of his thumbs, he shot off several messages before Nanu came up behind him and cleared his throat.

"...Ah." Giovanni locked his screen and passed a hand at his ear, a gesture Nanu didn't understand until he made out the glasses frames being tucked into the man's front coat pocket. Giovanni then pushed himself forward into standing position on the soft turf. He turned to face him. "How did it go?"

"We talked."

"And?" Giovanni forced their eyes to meet until Nanu wished he had a table to crawl under. "What do you make of it?"

All Nanu could think of to answer was, "He sounds scared."

With a disturbing lack of empathy, Giovanni breezed past this observation as if it annoyed him. "But what of the case?"

"Shoot, what do you _want_ me to say? This isn't really my forte. I don't know much about Chunam; definitely nothing about its organized crime syndicates."

"Then you'll have much to catch up on."

Nanu shook his head and warned, "I'll be working at a disadvantage. It's not where I like to be."

"You're not eager for a challenge?"

Nanu snorted aloud. "A long time ago, when I was young and crazy, then sure. But I'm old now―in case you haven't noticed."

By then, Giovanni had placed his hands in his pockets, and his face turned impenetrable, expressing an emotion Nanu couldn't hope to read. Was it disappointment? The man had gone out of his way to plan and abduct the former officer, so perhaps he had fallen for exaggerated rumors of grandeur. With a hard brow and harder stare, Giovanni urged, "Has it at least piqued your interest? Can I count on you?"

Nanu didn't understand the question. "I was under the impression I didn't have a choice."

"I can't let you refuse to take this job, but I would prefer not to force you."

"What difference does that make?"

"It makes all the difference," Giovanni stated, and he sounded as if he meant it. "This case is important. Someone precious to me is at risk. I need to know that you are invested."

Nanu thought about it. The thinking made him want a smoke, so he obliged the bad habit by drawing out a cigarette and planting himself on the wooden platform, not but a few inches from where Giovanni had sat. He fussed with a lighter and, feeling Giovanni's eyes on him, decided to speak. "Fine. But I have a condition."

"And what is that?"

"If I do this, I need to know that I can work with you. That means an open-door policy. I need to be able to ask anything and get an honest answer."

The cigarette burned a toxic orange just as Giovanni scoffed. "Kuchinashi. There's an accusation already implied in this request, and I'm quite shocked. You think I would lie to you?"

"I 'spect that's about _all_ you do nowadays," Nanu drawled. "But I can't work with misinformation. You're gonna hafta promise me."

As Giovanni dwelled on this, he placed his arms firmly at his back and shut his eyes to mull. A smirk crossed his lips. "What did you have in mind? Pinky swear? Cross my heart?"

"Swear on your son's life," Nanu said, voice harsh and bitter as the cloud of smoke that came out with it. "If he's so 'precious' to you, then you can do that."

Giovanni's playful expression soured. He always had hated being put in any bind or restriction if he could avoid it, and a vow of honesty would no doubt put a variety of his interests at risk. So when he conceded, it sounded like he was swallowing bitter medicine. "Very well." The man also added after suffering through his distaste, "I will do whatever I can to assist you."

Nanu knew better than to take it at face value. He crossed his legs and parted his gaze, sealing it on the vast horizon of black trees.

"I'll have your bags brought here; the attendant will show you your room," Giovanni went on. He turned and started down the path toward the other house, but Nanu spoke up.

"One last question."

Giovanni paused. His hands tensed behind his back, visible only by the moonlight. "Yes?"

"Your kid only got threatened a few days ago. But you went knocking on Sully's door asking about me before that. Weeks ago, in fact."

Giovanni blinked slowly, deliberately―cat-like. "And?"

"Did something else happen? To make you start looking me up?"

A long, drawn out silence. A slight breeze rattled dry leaves overhead, and a million words went unsaid. When at last he found the phrasing he wished to present, Giovanni said thinly, "When I considered who I knew in the ranks of law enforcement, you came to mind. It was a happenstance to find that your experience matched my needs."

"That doesn't answer my question."

With that, Giovanni exhaled and turned back around to begin a pace downhill. The heels of his leather shoes clacked on the cobblestone. "...Let's resume our talk tomorrow. In the meanwhile―good night."

Nanu let him go. After all, it was late. The night had swallowed up the day, and if he let himself, he could think of questions to outlast the midnight hours. Better to let them run their course and pick through the best of them in the morning. Whatever the situation, Giovanni wasn't rushing it, so Nanu wouldn't, either.

The kahuna watched as the figures in ghostly black reconvened, spoke words, and drifted down the path until they disappeared around the bend. From where he sat, he had a brilliant view; no wonder Giovanni had chosen it, as it offered the inky blots of trees on a sea-blue sky, stars overhead, and only the barest peek of the lakeside, shimmering with celestial light. A sheer pall of fog rolled in across the glassy water, taking in the moon's glisten. The night was quiet. The property, still. Nocturnal creatures made their sounds meekly and at a distance, as if they didn't wish to intrude on this man's dominion.

He listened to the puff of his own lungs and sizzle of the burning nub of his cigarette.

Yup. A nice view, indeed.


	4. Devil Speak True

The pale morning light came through Nanu's room dimly, and it tricked him into believing it was an earlier hour than it really was. In fact, his exhaustion had allowed him to sleep past nine. Not normal for him. A night owl though he was, he almost always slept poorly, allowing him only a few hours of good sleep before he would give up and shuffle around as early as six.

Upon waking, Nanu momentarily forgot where he was, at first expecting to feel the rough tongue of a hungry Meowth, then expecting to hear Sullivan's Growlithe barking downstairs. But he turned his head on the pillow and saw the walls of wood frames, paint the color of rice paper, and a strictly ordered arrangement of dressers and tables. The room smelled of pungent, fresh bamboo wood. He rolled himself up, quickening his pace when he noticed the time on a desk clock, but eased up when his muscles complained. As suspected, his fall yesterday at last caught up with him, and that meant his spine felt like it had turned to paste. In time, though, he managed to push himself to his feet and reach the sliding door leading outside. He drew back the paper slider and peered through.

The mist sitting over the lake reached land overnight, enshrouding Giovanni's property in a ghostly fog. The shadows of the distant pines melted into the gloom, but now that it was morning, Nanu could see the colors he missed in the nighttime, as the grounds showed themselves to be surrounded with maple, their crimson leaves cutting through the haze from even across the lake. The air was no longer punishingly cold, and a slight breeze carried a pleasant, earthy scent uphill.

Nanu forgot for a moment that this place imprisoned him.

He itched at his pocket. No cell phone. He wondered how Sullivan was doing. And Acerola-had she tried calling him? He didn't want her to worry, but until he could convince them to hand his phone back, he couldn't help it.

Just then, above his line of sight, a chirping Crobat flew by. When he followed it with his eyes, he saw that it zipped along the wood platform and landed a few yards down, where Silver, apparently having woken up earlier than Nanu, was already dressed and pulling on some boots.

Nanu called out, "Morning."

The kid jerked but didn't startle badly enough to drop his boot; he whipped his head around, gave Nanu an unimpressed glance, and didn't reply.

"Heading out for a walk?"

The Crobat landed on Silver's shoulder as he hopped down onto the grass. His answer came grudgingly. "No. Just to the house," he grunted.

"Oh." Nanu paused and thought. "What's at the house?"

"Breakfast." Silver started for the cobblestone path. "The guest kitchen sucks. Dad's has better… everything. Including coffee."

"He doesn't mind you raiding his fridge?"

Silver stopped only to snort and toss his head. "What's he gonna do? Ground me?"

"Good point. Mind if I join you?"

Silver had obviously not anticipated this request; he lifted an eyebrow, sour-faced, and glanced over Nanu's get-up. He could tell the older man had only just rolled out of bed, pajamas and all, so he scoffed, "I'm not waiting for you."

"Just gotta grab my shoes."

True to his word, Nanu went back inside, snagged some sneakers, and reappeared within seconds. Silver, to his surprise, didn't walk ahead to avoid his company, but watched him tie his laces and allowed him to hobble to his side before they started down the path. Nanu's style must have struck Silver as ridiculous, but the kahuna had learned long ago that at his age, he could wear virtually anything, and so long as he was shameless about it, no one complained. As such, Silver didn't comment on it.

Despite his initial skepticism, Silver seemed to appreciate having an accomplice. He could have easily hurried down the path to leave Nanu in the dust. Instead, he paused routinely to allow Nanu to catch up, and together, they walked the stone path and admired the delicate fall of leaves. They passed the garden again. This time, in the path of silver sunlight, Nanu could see the bridge over a series of dark pools. A Seaking poked its head out from under a bubbling stream and eyed them curiously.

On the opposite side of the territory, away from the lake, Mount Silver loomed, spotted with fresh overnight snow.

"It's nice land," Nanu said.

"Yeah, I guess."

That wasn't the response he expected from a _ranger_. Giovanni's son sure was an enigma. "Hey, kid." Nanu hadn't pressured Silver to talk, but now he realized he needed intel. "Do you know the layout of this place?"

Silver shrugged. Absentmindedly, he scratched his Crobat's chin. "More or less."

Nanu looked about, then locked his vision with a distant, downhill rooftop covered by red maple leaves. He pointed past the garden and led Silver to the same sight. "What's down that way?"

It took Silver only a passing glance to recognize the building. "That? That's Dad's gym―" Silver noted the possible confusion and disambiguated: "Like, with weights and equipment. It's where he works out and trains." He sighed and rolled his eyes to the sky. "He's probably there now. It's all he does, other than lock himself in his office."

 _All he does_? That would be pretty alarming―if true. Nanu wasn't going to trust the bitter observations of a young person to diagnose the man's time management. In any case, anyone who worked out regularly likely dedicated time in the morning to their routine, so Silver was right to suggest the gym as Giovanni's current location.

"...Mr. Nanu?"

"Just 'Nanu' 's fine."

"Do you think my father's lying?"

Well, there it was. Out in the open. Nanu blinked, stunned. "Uh. About what in particular?"

"About _everything_?"

"Facts aren't in yet," Nanu said. He kept his voice low and calm to counteract the hypervigilant wariness on the kid's end. "Look. I get you don't trust him. I'm not much for trusting the guy, either. But if he's even half right, there's real danger to be had."

The house appeared around the corner, falling into view from behind brush and trees. Silver had gone quiet as he walked and contemplated, and his steps meandered off the path to tread on grass softened by dew.

It took Nanu calling after him to get his attention back. "Take it easy. Your father obviously cares about you."

The second he said it, he felt an inward cringe, a revulsion at parroting platitudes he had no business repeating. Silver lunged at his mistake by spinning around and, in the process, knocking his Crobat from his shoulder. The boy seethed, glared, and frothed. "Why would you say that!?"

"Well, he brought you here, didn't he?"

"You don't know why he did that! You don't know _anything_ about my dad!"

"Okay." Nanu could see the tension building to breaking point and surrendered. "My mistake."

The fiery gaze ebbed a bit; the kid's shoulders eased, though his expression still looked taut and strained.

"Hmm." Hoping not to get his head bitten off, the kahuna prodded, "I gather the relationship's rocky."

"Try nonexistent," Silver snarled. "I barely saw him growing up. He didn't expect to have a kid, he definitely didn't _want_ one―and he hasn't made that much of a secret. So, yeah. _Dad of the Frickin' Year_."

Nanu slumped and pushed his hands deep into his pockets, muttering to himself, "Criminy. Sorry I said anything."

That would prove, though, to be his lesson. Silver had no interest in being placated, and talking to him about his father wouldn't yield results. Nanu was better off quizzing Giovanni; at least the man would lie to his face, and thereby give him somewhere to start.

The path narrowed between two hedges leading into the backyard and patio, a space lined with marble and brick, stone arches and an explosion of ferns and fading ivy. The area sat bathed in a cool shadow cast by a winding black tree growing in the center of the space, and leafage littered stone floor. A single gardener swept the area, dressed in a jumpsuit and not even looking up as they passed by.

Silver brought him through the patio doors at the back, and breezed by a security guard Nanu recognized from last night―the one who took his phone. Silver spoke nastily enough to the guard to give Nanu the impression that Silver's phone, too, had been confiscated at some point and the young man was still sore about it. The guard didn't argue or send them away, though. He only tread the dining room, glanced them over, and murmured a message into his radio before disappearing deeper into the house.

The dining room opened right into the kitchen, which had a rustic, Old World aesthetic unlike the front of the house―rosey redwoods, dark countertops, earthen accents. It came fully stocked with produce, herbs, a rack of wine bottles, countless forms of cookware, and an island lined with stools. Someone made this their culinary home, but no cook stood nearby to prepare breakfast, and given that Silver didn't remark on this, it must have been normal.

The Crobat landed on the counter and squeaked, pawing its nubby fingers through the fruit basket, and the kid wound around the island, opened a cupboard, and snagged a mug. A fresh pot of coffee sat out, ready to be plundered, and Silver went for it. "Guessing you want coffee," he said.

Nanu pulled out a stool, deciding to get comfortable. "I would. Thanks."

Promptly, Silver delivered him a mug of black brew. At least Silver had _some_ manners and grace.

Nanu sipped and eyed the stovetop area. "What's on the menu?"

"Dad's not here, so―whatever we want." Silver proceeded to dig through the fridge, procured the most expensive item he could find (a succulent slab of ribeye steak-no doubt imported, no doubt being saved for a special occasion), and went on to throw it into a sizzling frying pan.

Nanu marvelled at the passive aggression but didn't argue. The meat smelled like heaven, and he hadn't eaten a real meal in some time. Days, actually, now that he calculated it in his head.

The two of them didn't get away with it for long. A door shut upstairs, loudly enough for the sound to carry down the open stairwell, and the sound of padding feet reached the stairs and hardwood floor. Within seconds, Giovanni entered his kitchen barefoot, skin and hair still slick from his post-workout shower, shirtless, and primarily covering his shame with a wine-red robe.

Silver, as was his birthright, snarked, "Dad, put on a shirt," but Nanu recognized too late, _I am_ ** _not_** _supposed to be in here._

Giovanni stopped on the tile, met their eyes with a dark, hooded look, and brought his hands to the upper seams of his robe, closing it. He artfully avoided sounding irritated, but his words carried a strict, blunt cadence that implied he had every right to be. "My apologies. I didn't know I had guests in my kitchen."

"Morning," Nanu grunted. He averted his eyes to the wall and hunched over the counter, intent on dispelling the awkwardness. He hurried and brought a thick swill of coffee to his lips, mostly to make himself appear busy.

"...Hmm. Yes. Good morning."

"The kid invited me in."

"It's fine," the man responded, mollifying. "Please. Make yourself at home."

Was that code? A warning? Or a forthright request? Nanu didn't like wading through ambiguity. He kept his current position with his coffee in hand.

Giovanni could have left to dress himself, but notably, he didn't. Instead, he approached Silver at the stove and, reading his son's arrogance and attitude, decided to investigate. He glanced over Silver's shoulder and hummed. "You're making breakfast. That's―" Giovanni's eyes fell on the steak. He paused. "...Astonishingly generous. But..."

"But?"

"You're burning it."

"No, I'm―" Swearing and the frantic sound of metal scraping on cast iron followed.

Before Silver could voice his protest, Giovanni sidled in and took over. The man did not complain or scold or put a stop to this assault on his kitchen, but by a few swift movements, seasoned the meat, employed butters and oils, and flipped the steak to salvage the other side.

While he busied himself cooking, Silver looked put off that his attempt at annoying his father fell through, so the boy sulked at the island. At least the Crobat seemed to be enjoying itself, as it had found and currently nibbled on a sizable berry, and chattered at its trainer between bites. Silver sighed and rubbed a finger at its forehead in tight, bored circles.

"Would you like some eggs as well?"

It was not entirely clear whom Giovanni was asking. Nanu volunteered, uncertain, "Uh, sure."

Less than five minutes later, Giovanni had prepared and plated an impressively seared and carved steak, sitting in a pool of melted butter and topped with eggs cooked to perfection. He placed the meal on the counter with gravity, like he meant for them to admire it and offer sincere feedback.

Silver snuffed and trailed back to the coffee machine. "I changed my mind. I'm not hungry."

"Welp," Nanu said, latching his fingers on the edge of the plate and pulling it forward, "more for me. Hey, you got ketchup around here?"

"Kuchinashi―you are―" Giovanni had to take a moment to steady his breathing. "A guest in my house. But I patently refuse."

"You don't have to sperg out, Dad. It's not that serious."

Nanu didn't know what that meant, and it wasn't obvious whether Giovanni knew. He ignored it, in any case, and lifted a fork and knife to cut himself a bite. And perhaps it was the ghastly hunger that had hollowed his stomach, or the fact that he hadn't eaten steak in years―real steak, not the cheap, rubbery cuts that passed in Alolan buffet lines―but the first bite punched him in the gut. He'd heard people say they'd once eaten something so good that they were moved to tears, and he'd assumed this was hyperbole, but this came awfully close. He could feel himself break into a sweat; he had to shut his eyes and stifle a groan. " _Shit_."

"Is something wrong?"

"God, no. I'm having a moment here." When he opened his eyes, he found Giovanni earnestly searching his face and looking cautiously pleased.

"Should I take that as a compliment?"

"Your ego doesn't need anymore stroking, so let's leave it at that." Nanu breathed a few more curses under his breath and he dove in for another cut. "Kid, you sure you don't want any?"

Silver nailed him with a nasty glare and crossed his arms tightly over his chest.

"...Thought I'd ask."

"Is there anything else you would like, Silver?"

The son turned his glare to his father. "My life back?"

"That's precisely why Kuchinashi is here. Isn't that right?"

"Yup." Nanu shoveled in another bite and chewed obnoxiously. "That's the idea."

"Seeing as you're here, perhaps you can enlighten us. What are your goals for today?"

Nanu, not expecting to have to report out so quickly, just barely choked down his bite. Both Silver and Giovanni, sharing an impatience for results, eyed him intently as they awaited his answer. No worry. Nanu knew how to feign forethought. "I've got a list," he lied. "For one, any chance I can visit the crime scene?"

"Crime scene?"

"The abduction site."

Giovanni tapped a finger on the counter and wrinkled his brow. "...I suppose… If you feel it's necessary."

"Good. Another thing: I wanna talk to Sully."

Giovanni, anticipating this request, stayed resolved. "I can't allow that―for the moment. Not to worry, though. I spoke with him earlier this morning."

"You _what_."

"He sounded well. The caregiver I hired has arrived and has started helping him get his affairs and house in order. He's in good hands."

Nanu did not find this reassuring in the least. "Uh-huh. What'd you tell him about me?"

"Oh…" With a dismissive flick of his wrist, Giovanni recalled his lie only hazily. "I said something about a… training expedition, hiking up Mount Silver."

"Ugh. That's the best you could come up with? _Sounds_ like a cover story. Probably thinks I'm having an affair as we speak."

"He didn't suggest that. He only sounded relieved to have you out of the house." Suddenly, he took on a facetious, scolding tone, "Were you causing grief for the poor man already?"

"...Well. I didn't hire any thugs to beat him senseless."

Giovanni shut up and dropped his smirk; he retreated to pour himself a cup of coffee.

Surprising both of them, Silver interjected. "Who are you _talking_ about?"

Nanu had forgotten the kid was even there. "Just my old man," he answered.

"Your dad lives in Viridian?"

Great. Questions he didn't need. Nanu dug into the steak again to draw out a morsel and stuck it between his teeth. "Uh. Kinda like a dad. He took care o' me. Raised me."

"Oh. You were an orphan or something?"

The question was invasive, and rude to boot. " _Silver_." For the first time that morning, Giovanni's voice had a sharp edge to it, a vaguely-implied threat. "Stop bothering him with personal questions."

"No, no, no, 'salright," Nanu hurried to say. "He's just curious." Of course Nanu knew where the curiosity came from; Silver hoped to glean more about his father from the conversation. "Folks were out of the picture. Sully was a city attorney; he got to know me for all the wrong reasons and took me in."

"Oh." This wasn't the information Silver really wanted; the young man steered the conversation hard. "And you met Dad…?"

"For cripes' sake. Look, boy," Nanu rattled on, mouth partially full, "if you want embarrassing childhood stories about your father, all you gotta do is ask―"

With a sharp, decisive exhale, Giovanni reached over the counter and took Nanu's plate. " _All right_. It seems you're done."

"Hey―!" Nanu had been so busy chewing that he didn't have time to rescue his unfinished meal.

Giovanni ignored him and called out from the kitchen. " _Amun. Breakfast_."

"Aw, c'mon, it was a joke."

The man stood stationary near the doorway; the padding of pawsteps descended the stairs, and a hungry yowl echoed.

"What would I even say, huh? What story could I possibly tell that doesn't make me out to be an asshole?"

The Persian strode into the kitchen, alert and ready to pounce. Upon seeing its master, it wound its shoulders hard against his legs. He chortled, scratched its forehead, and as he set the plate on the tile floor, he told it in a sing-song tone, "Leftovers today."

"You know―" (It was too late; the Persian had a mouthful of steak). Nanu grumbled and shook his head, scratching his scalp roughly. "Even if I did spill, you'd just tell a story about me. Or bring out your kid's baby pictures to shut him up."

"Dad doesn't have my baby pictures," Silver said, somehow carrying both a victorious and bitter tone.

"Yeah―well―" Nanu waved him off. "You know what I mean."

"I don't think he has _any_ pictures of me." Silver shot his father a look. "Do you?"

Giovanni stayed silent, hands in his robe's pockets, eyes on his feeding Persian.

"Dad. Do you have pictures of me? In this house? Like, at all?"

After an uncomfortable stretch of quiet, Giovanni, still not looking at either of them, murmured distractedly, "Your grandmother has some, I believe."

"Oh." Silver sucked his teeth, and realizing he still was hungry, took up an apple to gnaw upon. "Go figure. Grandma Jojo has stuff on _everybody_."

"' _Grandma Jojo_?'" Nanu blinked stupidly at him until a look of horrible realization crossed his face. "Oh, criminy. That woman's still alive?"

"Grandma Jojo's alive," Silver supplied, almost sounding cross at his implication. "I mean, she's _completely crazy_ , but she's alive. You know her?"

If Nanu were to shut his eyes now, he would see her: slender and tall, eyes sharp as daggers, lips a carnivorous red. Even when she didn't stand in the room with her son, she could be felt. "...You could say that."

Giovanni grit his teeth, affixed his hand to the handle of his coffee mug, and tightened his lips, like he wanted to say something but purposefully withheld it.

"Lord, that's a trip. She still hella fine?"

Silver chose not to answer that, and instead curl his lip and utter, " _Ew_."

"What?" Nanu saw Giovanni's similar look of disapproval. "Don't give me that look. You know how she used to flirt with me."

Giovanni's eyes slithered shut. He sank his concentration into his mug of coffee after drinking deeply from it. "You were fifteen," Giovanni uttered stiffly. "You took everything as flirting."

"Yeah, and then she'd swing around and tell me she was gonna carve my eyeballs out. She scared the _piss_ outta me."

"Sounds like her," Silver conceded. He turned the apple in his hands and smirked, amused by the turn in conversation and eager to embarrass his father. "Last time I was at Jojo's, she spent the _whole time_ complaining about how Dad was running things." He puffed with a snicker. "She threw a _dinner plate_ at him."

"That's enough." Giovanni's mug landed on the counter with a decisive thud; for a moment, the air prickled and all levity evaporated. Even the Persian lifted its head in alarm. "Leave my mother out of this."

With that, breakfast seemed to be over.

Afterward, Silver left out the patio doors with his apple and Crobat, Persian licked its plate clean, and Giovanni invited Nanu to his office again. He had files and reports to hand off, he said. But first, he went back upstairs to get on some proper clothes and hinted that Nanu might want to clean himself up as well. As if. Nanu would be getting dressed when he had to, and no sooner.

Nanu took those few minutes to instead wander the house a little more. It didn't much different by daylight, especially the corridors, which proved shut out from daylight. He had a chance to note additional pieces of artwork, all of which reflecting an impersonal, distant observation of natural beauty: mountain ranges, trees, flowers cut and posed, empty landscapes. There were no faces to Giovanni's decor. No pictures. He thought of Silver's complaint, saw yet another security guard peek out and disappear again into the barren hollows. He got the feeling they'd been instructed to stay mostly out of sight.

Nanu had only been here for a few hours, and it already breathed loneliness. It felt like a museum, not a home.

"Sorry for the wait."

And there Giovanni was: the ghost haunting the place, dressed up in a crisp suit, nowhere to go.

The office, bright by the morning light, held more charm and less foreboding this time around. Nanu could see the floral designs in the carpet and the rainbow shine coming through the bevelled glass windows. Giovanni didn't sit, as he didn't expect this to take long, but lifted a short stack of papers and folders from atop his desk and turned to hand them over.

"These files detail the incidents that have happened thus far. There's also information that I've collected on the Black Dragon Clan. I trust they'll be helpful."

Nanu took them.

"Is there anything specific you'll need to get started? Materials?"

"Computer."

While Giovanni didn't like the idea, there was no real alternative. It would be necessary to browse records and conduct research. "I'll have one delivered to your room. Your usage will have to be monitored."

Nanu griped. "Woah, hey. A guy needs _some_ privacy, you know."

"I'm not worried about your pornography consumption, Kuchinashi," Giovanni said wryly, patting him on the shoulder. "Only who you try to contact." He smiled at Nanu's dead-eyed glare and changed the subject. "Whenever you're ready, Johannes will be attending you to the scene of the abduction attempt. How long do you expect to be off-site?"

"Not long. Uh… Before I go, though. We gotta talk."

"Oh?"

"I need to know your financial situation."

Giovanni folded his hands behind his back and seemingly froze in place. It took a moment for him to overcome his resistance. "And how is that relevant?"

Nanu was irritated, but not surprised that this would require teeth-pulling force. Giovanni had survived thus far by depending on secrecy, and breaking that habit wasn't going to be easy. Nanu tried not to sound too condescending. "You've got people intent on taking you down; I'd say it's pretty damn relevant to _that_."

Giovanni rested a finger to his lips, interpreted Nanu's seriousness, then shrugged. "Ask away." He reluctantly stepped behind the desk to reach his chair and gestured for Nanu to sit as well. "This may take a moment."

Great… Not foreboding at all. Nanu landed in the same chair as last night and wondered how many more times he'd have to grace it with his presence. "Just break it down for me. How much of the funding for _this_ ―" Nanu twirled a finger about, indicating the property and lifestyle. "-Comes from Team Rocket?"

"None of it."

Nanu dropped his hand and scowled. Already, they hit a snag. "You wanna try that again?"

"I thought I was quite clear to you. Team Rocket is no longer a part of my life."

"But it used to be. So where'd all that money end up?"

Fingers folded and rested at his knee, Giovanni bloviated, "My investments and savings are diversified."

"...You're gonna hafta be more specific."

Giovanni continued to drag his heels. "I _had_ accounts in Kanto, before the International Police had them frozen. The rest of that money I have spread under three identities in different regions. I also opened a trust account on behalf of my son when he was born."

"What are you doing with the money?"

"Nothing." Giovanni sensed Nanu's incredulity. "The International Police are keeping an eye on those accounts. I'd be a fool to make a move on them. To get where I am now, I had to start from scratch."

"Same line of work?"

"Oh, no. I own a local logging company: _Lakeside Lumber_."

"Logging." As Nanu dwelled on the ridiculous nature of this new business venture, he remembered Silver's occupation. That couldn't be a mere coincidence.

"Yes; of course, officially, I am not connected to the company, but I have control of the standing CEO. It's performed extraordinarily well. Expanded, even, in the last year."

"How about the Rangers in town? They cause you trouble?"

Giovanni almost leaped out of his chair. "Mere children," he barked. He sank and forced himself to recompose by pushing a finger to his crown. "Idealists: noisy, but harmless. I don't dwell on them."

 _Which is why your blood pressure just spiked._ Nanu clicked his tongue. "So that's a yes, then."

"They are very… vocal members of the community, I admit. But, fortunately, their rabble-rousing can't stop the march of progress. With the city growing as it is, the demand for resources is at an all-time high."

"You ain't sore that they've gone and brainwashed your son?"

Giovanni flared, but grit his teeth. "Silver is not _brainwashed_. He's oppositional and defiant, and he makes a game of causing me inconvenience. I'd be shocked if he took much of their philosophy to heart."

"All right. I get the picture." Nanu made one last stab at the truth. "And it ain't some kinda laundering scheme. You don't have old Rocket execs running mills or smuggling pokemon or―"

"I _told_ you. I've put that all behind me. The company is legal. Certified. Legitimate. It answers to the local and federal regulators."

"...No tricky stuff?"

Giovanni lifted his hands, palms open, in a gesture of complete surrender. "I promise you. Everything is above-board."

* * *

Okay, so Giovanni fibbed a bit.

Nanu couldn't say he was surprised.

The man had told some substantial truths, but the lies bubbled to the surface as soon as Nanu returned to the guest house and logged into the provided PC. He felt no hesitation in searching up what Giovanni had just told him; the man ought to know that Nanu would cross-check everything out of his mouth. So he poked around news articles detailing the dings against the company's reputation: fines for logging in unauthorized areas, allegations of cutting down endangered species and selling their wood surreptitiously to interested buyers, reprimands for unsafe waste disposal.

Giovanni had apparently more than made up for these faults, though, in buying off the support of the community. The employees were paid well and happy with their work; regular donations of wood to local schools and community centers satisfied the townsfolk. Only the regulators and environmentalists seemed to be complaining.

After uncovering all this, Nanu struggled to conclude what it all meant. On the one hand, yes, this seemed legitimate. The business was lucrative, paid its taxes and fines, and covered its ass enough to stay open. Certainly, he'd rather Giovanni play his game with trees than pokemon. But there were worrying, familiar flaws leaking through the pristine surface―a looseness with the truth, a manipulation of public favor, a sense of libertine disregard for basic laws if it meant squeezing out more profit.

 _At least he's getting caught_. Nanu caught sight of a number―the price of Giovanni's last flirtation with criminality. A two-million dollar fine. Nanu whistled. _And getting spanked for it._

...Could be a bad sign. Could mean he's getting impatient with playing by the rules. Maybe Giovanni could decide, after all, he'd rather slink back into the black market.

Besides. Nanu knew he didn't want just money, but power. Logging was bringing in the dough, but it didn't offer the kind of status the man liked.

 _He's still not being honest with me._ Nanu thought on that for another moment, then shut his laptop and eyes in frustration. _Dammit, Sakaki._


	5. Hurlyburly

Giovanni must have remembered Nanu's abysmal grades in school, because he felt the need to leave cheat-sheets among the delivered files. Maps, historical information, encyclopedia breakdowns of Chunam's demographics, economy, and so on. Nanu could choose to be offended, but, he admitted it, hadn't he? Chunam was not his area of expertise.

During his ride to the abduction scene, with only the back side of the driver's head visible from his seat, Nanu passed the time by flipping through the pages. He hit the map of the mysterious region and lingered on it, as he hadn't carefully examined the territory in decades.

The land lay west. Past Kanto and Johto. Past Sinnoh and Hoenn. Past every island known in the Nipporo sea. Past a long swath of barren ocean―almost to the ends of the earth as anyone understood it. Chunam existed on the verge, like an image visible only out of the corner of one's eye, like a faintly-remembered dream. The more mystical called it the Land of Dead Gods, this country that once hosted unspeakable, terrible power but now slumped and swelled like a sea-bloated corpse. No one spoke of the place lightly, and fewer still entertained thoughts of visiting.

For a land forsaken, however, it did not lack people. Millions lived there. Their villages and cities covered vast tracts of mountains, valleys, and coastal shores that seemed to unfurl into eternity. These people did not share much with the rest of the world despite their great number. In general, Chunam did not show much interest in outsiders. The reasons for its isolation were many. In terms of distance, its borders lay farther from the Nipporo continent than any other land. It retained the use of an ancient language now unintelligible to the rest of the world; its customs were strange; its attitude toward foreigners, hostile. As far as its border stretched at sea, there traced a massive stone wall some twenty feet tall, constructed by the land's ancestors. And to this day, the wall served its purpose. The Chunren did not take to invasion or meddling.

The one part of Chunam that was ever open to visitors was the city of Huo Hong. Nanu dragged his eyes to the bottom of the map and saw its name printed in a fiery red. Huo Hong, Nanu knew. Everyone in law enforcement knew it to some extent. It was the largest metropolis of the region, positioned at the southern coast and featuring a libertine economy. It's said that you can buy anything in Huo Hong. Drugs. Weapons. Rare creatures, living or dead. And for the right price―people.

Most upstanding and right-thinking people stayed away. Still, the occasional shady businessman or celebrity could be caught making trips there, and long-standing rumors suggested that Team Rocket had some foothold. Insiders in Interpol, however, had told him that the city's government―a motley collection of cultured noblemen, corrupt bureaucrats, and shameless crimelords―ruthlessly pursued and drove out any competition for its money-making schemes. If the Rockets ever had influence there, it had dissolved under pressure years ago.

Four prominent city-provinces lay in the four cardinal directions: Huo Hong to the south, Mei'hei to the north, Baigang to the east, and Lin-Lui to the west. These locations served both as centers of commerce as well as defining borders; go north of Mei'hei, or west of Lin-Lui, or south of Huo Hong, and you would be doomed to walk wasteland forever. You wouldn't get far anyhow, not with the presence of unscalable mountains standing on every side.

Giovanni had mentioned before that the Black Dragons controlled one such province. The map and information indicated their stronghold was located far north in Mei'hei at the frozen foothills beneath Khar Mountain. Of course, Giovanni was not proposing an invasion of a foreign country. The Black Dragons could have Mei'hei. But according to the incidents described in the reports given to Nanu, the clan had made clandestine moves into Kanto's territory. Their attacks and harassment centered on old Team Rocket hideouts and former members and executives. They also launched a few more brutal assaults on men and women who made up the remnants of the team; some jokers still ran around in black suits and called themselves Rockets, and had thus received heavy blows for their audacity.

If these reports were to be believed and the Black Dragon Clan was meddling in local affairs, that would be unprecedented. Gangs other than Team Rocket had roamed Kanto and Johto before, but those had always been local groups, not foreign powers.

Giovanni might feign ignorance, but Nanu knew better than to believe that the man didn't know why this was happening. Either this was a long-standing feud come to a head, or Giovanni had succumbed to temptation and poked a rival gang in the eye, only to provoke the group into biting back. Nanu would be surprised if the two groups didn't have some history; this sort of vitriol and violence didn't normally come out of thin air. He ought to look into that.

* * *

"Sir."

Nanu looked up. The car had stopped. He looked out the passenger window and found himself staring at a wall; on the other side of the car, he saw the face of several stores.

"We're here."

The same, uptight driver from yesterday-named Johannes, if Nanu recalled correctly― crawled out of the car and pulled Nanu's door open. He wanted to tell the young man that the gesture was unnecessary, but kept quiet. He should take the signs of respect where he could get them.

The driver had brought Nanu to a nondescript alleyway in downtown Viridian. It could have been anywhere in the city; on one side, a tall brick wall blocked off his view of the rest of the city, and on the other, there was a row of shuttered shops, mostly restaurants that would be opened in the afternoon and evening. Some bikes rested against the wall, as did folded board signs and traffic cones. He saw no people, though he noticed a flock of Pidgey flutter off upon their arrival. This wasn't a major footway, obviously. He could hear at a long distance the sounds of citizens walking and talking on adjoining roads, but here, the only noise was the moist breeze blustering through and throwing dead leaves over the wall.

The paved street running through the alley was narrow, only giving enough space to fit one car at a time, and tire tracks from frequent vehicle crossings lined the wet road. There would be no way to tell which set of tracks belonged to which, and the moist air had turned the remaining tracks to unreadable sludge.

Nanu turned back to the driver, who already looked bored.

"So, what am I looking at?"

"You wanted the crime scene," Johannes said. "This is it."

"Where exactly?"

"In this alley," the driver responded impatiently.

How helpful. Nanu grumbled and scratched at his chin. "The plan is to look for evidence. Can you be more specific?"

With a huff, the driver paced toward the center of the road and began pointing about. "His son said it was on this street, before that intersection. That's all I know."

Nanu had to forgive Silver. He probably wasn't taking meticulous notes on his location as his Weavile was being riddled with bullets. Nanu could only hope and pray any evidence left behind hadn't worn or washed away since then. Nanu sighed and trudged down the road, keeping his eyes peeled for anything out of place. Then he heard pacing directly behind him; he glanced around.

"My employer told me to keep a close eye on you," the driver explained, caught in the act of tailing him.

Nanu clenched his jaw. "What, you wanna hold my hand, too? Stay by the car. I'll be back."

Johannes almost started to argue, but he also seemed eager to find an excuse to abandon his post. He shook his head and walked off in a huff, finding his place by the car and eyeing him from afar.

Now he could work.

Not to say there was much to go on. He had a vague notion of what had happened, but without knowing the spot, he couldn't hope to find much. Blood could disappear. Bullet holes could be lost in brick walls or cement seams, or lodged in places invisible from a distance. The best Nanu could do is pace the length of the narrow street, watching for imperfections in the walls, though even that was cluttered with crates, traffic cones, bollards, signs, and metal grating. Too many unreachable crevices to even begin. After five minutes of searching, he felt his eyes cross.

But as he walked, he heard a door creak open, and just ahead, a squat old woman emerged from the back of a convenience shop. She shuffled out with a crate in hand, graying hair tied in a red bandana, body wrapped in an equally-red apron. A uniform. Determining this meant she was an employee, Nanu picked up speed before she could disappear back into the store.

She placed the crate onto a stack of empty ones, then put a hand to the door.

"Uh, ma'am? 'Scuse me."

Though she initially startled, the woman saw him and instantly relaxed; one advantage of being old was no one read you as a threat. She smiled and gave a petite bow. "Hello," she said. "Can I help you?"

"Pardon; I don't mean to bother you, but do you work nights around here?"

Clearly, this was not the question she anticipated. Her wrinkled brow tensed, and with a free hand she tucked a loose lock of hair back under her bandana. "I'm here just about all the time. I actually live here." She gestured at the apartment on the second floor. "What's this about?"

"You happen to hear any commotion Monday night?"

"Commotion? Monday night?" She frowned with thought. "What a funny question. But… Oh, was that the…? Now that you say that, I think it _was_ Monday."

"Ma'am?"

"Kids like to walk back here," she explained. "Usually they don't make trouble, but that night, I heard a group of them make an awful racket. Firecrackers! Can you believe it? I could swear there was a war going on."

"You saw them?"

The woman realized she had to backtrack her statement. "Well, no. I came out, though, after they ran off. I could smell it."

"Did you happen to call the police?"

"Police?" She looked gobsmacked. "Heavens, no! It's only children making mischief."

Nanu scanned the upper walls and light posts. In larger cities, there would be security cameras lining every alleyway, but here, he didn't see any sign of surveillance. "...And you haven't seen or heard anything strange since then."

The pressure made her give him a second, suspicious look. She aimed her sight at his shoulder, chest, and hip, like she hoped to find a badge or other indicator. "Are you a detective?"

Nanu had to confess he wasn't hiding it well. He was about to answer more-or-less honestly when the woman interrupted:

"Did Chris hire you?"

He shook his head. "...Chris?"

"No? I thought…" She placed a hand at her cheek and sighed morosely. "Well, that poor girl."

"Something happen?"

Given the circumstances, the old woman wasn't surprised by his interest. "Chris is a student at the Ranger's School. She's come by a few times last couple of days... Said a friend of hers is missing; I let her hang up a poster in our window."

 _Uh-oh_.

The woman was kind enough to go fetch an extra copy of the poster, and when she returned with it, it was exactly what Nanu feared. Some innocent civilian had gotten mixed up in this, posting a loud, public cry of attention to an issue Giovanni wanted quiet:

HAVE YOU SEEN ME?

MALE, 21 YO, 5'8, RED HAIR

MISSING SINCE NOVEMBER 4TH

CONTACT CHRIS AT -

The picture featured Silver in his coral-red ranger cap and vest. It looked like the image had been pulled from a group picture, maybe a class photo, as he also wore an awkward, forced smile.

"Do you know him?" Nanu asked.

"Oh, no. But a lot of people use that street as a shortcut to the Ranger's School, so when you started asking questions…"

Instinctively, he began to fold it, though just to be polite, he asked, "Mind if I keep this?"

After giving him a look of wonder, she assented with a shrug. "Go ahead. She's been leaving them everywhere."

Nanu thanked her, and as she went back inside, he had to consider his options. He could keep scoping out the scene, perhaps in the hopes of finding some bullets or their casings, but it wasn't as if he had a crime lab to process physical evidence. He plodded toward the car, his eyes tracing the paper and especially the number printed at the bottom. This could be a problem―or an opportunity.

"Hey," he said, interrupting the driver's attempt at relaxing in the shade with a cigarette. "Lend me your phone."

At first, the driver didn't understand his request. But after a second of indignant puffing, the young man scowled. "No way."

"It's for the investigation."

"I can't do that, and you know it."

Plan B it was, then. "Fine. Where's the nearest Pokemon Center?"

"What?"

"Kid's pokemon was injured. Must've ran with it to the nearest center. So I'd like to stop by there, too. Witnesses, and all that."

"I don't see why you need to do that," the driver countered hotly. His patience was wearing thin; he seemed ready to throw Nanu into the car and forcefully escort him back to the mansion. "We've wasted enough time. Did you even learn anything useful from that old bag?"

Nanu was used to boneheads who thought evidence and leads fell out of the sky. To find someone who heard the shots, and another person who knew Silver was already a miracle in itself, mostly precipitated by the town's rather small, tight community. "I learned some. But I need more people to talk to."

Just when he thought Johannes was about to give in, the man stomped out his cigarette, dug through his coat pocket, and grumbled, "I'm calling my boss."

Investigations were enough of a pain without his every move being monitored and stonewalled. Nanu vented. "If that's how this is gonna go, we're gonna be out here all damn day."

"Get in the car."

At this point, it seemed he had no choice. Nanu snagged the back car door open and rested an elbow there, and watched the driver pace a distance away to make the call. His fingers drummed the metal, light with impatience.

* * *

Giovanni gave him permission to go to the Pokemon Center.

" _Permission_."

Of course, the permission had been granted with the understanding that he'd be running an errand while there. Silver's injured Weavile still remained in the intensive care wing of the center, and he wished for Nanu to make an assessment of its possible return to its owner.

Nanu would have liked to ask if Giovanni had a grocery list for him, too, but Johannes wouldn't hand over the phone.

* * *

Compared to the Alolan Pokemon Centers, the Kantonian locations had a charming simplicity to them. They had been built in the early League years and lacked many of the updated and expanded features Nanu was now used to: no cafe or eating area, no in-center shopping, no escalator to a second floor. The place was built more like a simple government office, albeit with more welcoming colors and staff. Front of house featured a limited number of chairs and tables, at which a modest handful of trainers waited for colleagues or rested their feet. With the glossy floors, plastic chairs, and bland decor, the only homely details came from the posters on the wall and some leafy potted plants hiding in the corners of the room. Nanu might have compared the center's appearance to what he remembered from decades ago, but the center hadn't been built until he entered his twenties, and it was about that time he strayed from his calling as a trainer to pursue other delights. In other words, the Viridian Pokemon Center had not been one of his regular haunts as a young man.

Nanu walked forward, hands crammed deep in his pockets. The front desk and attending nurse's uniform looked about the same as any he'd ever seen. Brand integrity, he supposed. No line blocked him from approaching the desk straight away, but he merely nodded as the nurse greeted him and then kept walking. He could check in on the kid's Weavile later. For now, he had a real lead to attend to.

The video phone kiosks in the back corner were outdated, dusty from disuse and clunky from graceless aging. These days, people carried their phones in their pockets or on their wrists, so hardly anyone needed to sit in a booth to make a call. Nanu didn't attract any suspicious looks for occupying one, however. He was an old-timer―as outdated and dusty as the phones. As a bonus, he could be pretty sure the driver forgot that the center still had these kiosks, which meant he remained unsupervised.

Nanu sat in the stool, cursed his pained posture, and brought out the folded poster from his pocket. This call would not require any video, as he intended not to talk much at all, so he plugged in the number and waited on the dial-tone. It barely got to ring once before the girl answered.

He couldn't get much of an impression from the young, female caller other than her high energy. The moment he told her that he might know where her friend was, she declared her intent to meet him at the center and vowed to be there in the next ten minutes. He didn't have time to agree or disagree with her terms, but heard a tremendous clatter on the other end before the phone call ended.

Nanu spun around in the stool, ready to fulfill his duty, but he espied another nurse and a Chansey carrying an injured pokemon past him; a young girl, couldn't be more than seven, ran up and cried out for her Bulbasaur, and she hopped with uncontainable excitement.

Nanu frowned, and his mind wandered. Then his finger itched.

He found himself eyeing the number to the Ula'ula police station. If he had a chance to check in with Acerola, he would steal it, even if it meant a momentary conversation. He made Molayne install a video phone module on his PC, so he could not only call up the place when he was away, but also get visual confirmation that it hadn't gone up in flames.

He dialed. He had no guarantee Acerola would be around in the moment, anyway; with the time zone difference, it would be late evening in Alola. As the dial tone rang several times, he watched the center's doorway to be sure he wasn't followed or watched.

Was no one answering? Nanu let it ring a fifth time and readied his hand to push away the receiver.

The black monitor blipped and came to life with a full-color image. He blinked. It wasn't Acerola. It wasn't Molayne, or Plumeria, or some wandering Team Skull grunt out of Po Town. It wasn't even a Meowth that accidentally walked over the keyboard.

"Agent Looker," he said, suppressing his shock.

* * *

Nanu didn't do a hard double-take because he had known Looker was in Alola, but the kahuna hadn't expected the agent to be lurking about his police station. Looker was supposed to be on vacation; indeed, he appeared to still be in his vacation form, Alolan-style shirt and all, with the additional of a silver-coated Meowth clutched and clawing at his shoulder. The sharp, vibrant goofball's eyes lit up when he heard Nanu's voice. "Nanu? Is that you? What a pleasant surprise!"

"KR. The hell are you doing at my place?"

"I stopped by to feed your feline friends," the man answered. As he talked, another cat began to force its way onto his lap and yawl for attention.

"What?" It was a simple answer on its surface, but it caught Nanu off-guard. "Where's the girl? She's supposed to be doing all that."

"Your niece was busy, and so she asked me to lend my assistance."

"She's not my―" Nanu shook his head. "Whatever. You should make the grunts do it. S'not like they have anything to do."

"It is no trouble."

Right. To the contrary, Looker appeared to be enjoying himself with all the furry company. The man always had a way with animals that Nanu didn't understand.

"You're at a phone booth," the agent suddenly observed. Looker never missed any details. "Why is that?"

"Broke my cell," Nanu said. "You can, uh, tell the girl, too. She's probably fussing trying to get in touch."

"I see. I'll let her know. How are matters in your hometown?"

"Good," Nanu answered elusively.

"And Mr. Sullivan? What I heard of your phone call sounded like an emergency."

"He had a fall. Nothing life-threatening."

"Ah… That is good news. Then you must be planning on returning soon?"

Nanu gave his cheek a slow, lazy scratch. "...Yeah. 'Bout that. Something else's come up."

"Oh?"

"I might not be home for a while." ( _Or at all_?) "That won't throw a wrench in your plans, will it?"

"I don't believe so." Looker pondered his situation. Just before Nanu received the call that sent him halfway across the globe, the other agent had confessed to falling into a peculiar set of circumstances that would precede some shocking news. Looker had initially planned on approaching the Aether Foundation on that issue, but he expressed hesitation at going into the case without support. "I have time."

"Worse comes to worse, you talk to Hala. The kahunas can help."

"Yes. I'm sure you're right."

They fell silent for a moment. Then Nanu realized his conversation was more fortuitous than he first realized. "Hey. KR. Aren't you from Huo Hong?"

He asked-though he was certain of it. When he first met Looker, the other agent's English skills had not reached perfect fluency, and his accent had been more obvious. The agent had since adapted his speaking style to a natural and cosmopolitan tone, becoming almost indistinguishable from a native, although the occasional turn of phrase or idiom could betray him. Now, Looker peered at him, expression troubled. Nanu had never been in habit of asking him personal questions. "Indeed I am."

"How would you describe things over there?"

"I hope you are not planning a voyage, my friend. It is _not_ an ideal place for a sabbatical."

"Heh. Depends what your definition of 'fun' is."

"To answer your question," Looker said, voice just barely escaping a chiding tone, "I have not been back in many years."

"Interpol hasn't assigned you any cases there?"

"To the contrary, my friend―Interpol has not been successful in forming a reciprocity agreement with Chunam. Their laws and values are…" Looker hesitated. "Their understanding of human and pokemon rights is quite primitive."

"Geez," Nanu clucked with a wry smirk. "You don't gotta throw your motherland under the bus."

Looker scrambled, visibly embarrassed. "Er, p-perhaps 'primitive' is the wrong word! I only mean―"

"Never mind. I get it." Nanu fixed the phone between his shoulder and ear so that he could rest his hands in his pockets. "Anyway, the reason I'm asking is, there might be something going down."

"Of what nature?"

"Don't know yet." Before Nanu went any further, he leaned around the video console, gauged the traffic at the doorway, and determined he was still in private. "Let's say I put the Black Dragon Clan and Team Rocket in the same sentence. Thoughts?"

With iron resolve and saint-like tranquility, Looker took what should have been an alarming juxtaposition and thought about it. "Hmm. To that, I would say…" A few seconds of steep silence, and Looker came to his conclusion. "There are not many points of comparison. Both are groups connected to criminal activity, and at least in practice, they have been run by a particular family line. But they are drastically different."

"So you've never heard of the two being connected. Territory fights, or bad blood, or anything like that."

Looker's worry hadn't dissipated. "No, I cannot say that I have."

"Any idea who runs the Black Dragons these days?"

"What an... interesting line of questioning you've presented," Looker uttered euphemistically. "Unfortunately, I know most about Huo Hong. But based solely on hearsay, I suggest you research the Shén family."

"Shéns. Got it. And… Looker."

"Yes?"

"I'd like this to stay between us for now."

"Nanu. Did you even have to say it?"

Surprised by the moment of good humor, he smirked. "Nah, you're right. I know you're no snitch."

"And I know you are no fool," Looker said sagely. "Should things grow too dangerous, reach out for support, yes?"

"Hmph. Suppose I will."

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed someone entering the center through the sliding glass doors.

"I gotta go."

Looker nodded dutifully. "Yes. Good night, sir. And good luck."

He said his goodbye, hung up the phone, pushed himself from the booth stool, and turned around to find a girl already making her way toward the front desk.

* * *

The young woman stood at about his height, and had a lanky build considering her occupation of choice, as shown by her athletic Ranger wear. She must have come straight from the school, as she still donned her orange vest, cap, and cargo pants bouncing with a dizzying array of pouches and pockets. The cap at her head covered ruffled bangs, and two whip-length braids of night-teal hair draped down her shoulders. She had that wide-eyed, lambish look that gave him the impression she would spook and scurry away if he handled this wrong. Better go slow and easy.

At first she headed for the front desk, but soon she jutted her face around the center, intent on finding who had contacted her. She was rather quick to notice him. After all, he stuck out among the collection of young trainers and center staff. He expected her to bolt for him, but something in his appearance made her hesitate and observe from afar first; she eyed his demeanor, his age, his leather jacket, and his sullen red eyes, and for a moment, she put a gloved hand to her belt.

He leaned against the booth partition and waved awkwardly with one hand.

She did not wave back.

He took a few lazy steps forward. "Hey. You Chris?"

Instead of answering, she eased her hand away from her belt and stepped toward him in turn.

"I found this." He waved the folded poster before slipping it back into his coat pocket. "I thought I'd do you a favor and put your mind at ease."

With a hard, pinching grip at the bill of her cap, the girl spoke. Her voice crept in softly and shook like a leaf in the wind. "Where is he?"

"Can't tell you."

She spoke again, harder. "Who are you?"

"Doesn't matter," he said. He tried to ease the tension by bringing both hands of his pockets and rambling in a blasé manner. "Look. Your friend ran into some trouble. But he's in a safe place for now. You should stop putting up posters before you attract the wrong kind of―"

The girl's face was no longer gentle. The green in her eyes deepened as they narrowed in focus; her gloved fingers formed fists.

"Uh." He feebly traced back his words so check that he hadn't said something wrong. "As I was saying. He's fine. He's with family―"

"I knew it!" She stomped a foot and cried out: "It's _you_ people!"

He blinked, and in a whirlwind of a second, she had a pokeball in her hand. Cries of alarm sent visitors to the center scrambling for cover, and over the commotion, he could hear the nurse pleading with Chris to control herself, but next things he knew, the center floor shook with the force of a stomping, bellowing Meganium. Nanu narrowly missed being pounded in the chest by the creature's swinging sauropod head, and wrenched his legs trying to stumble a safe distance away.

"I'm gonna pound you into dust, criminal scum!"

Steadying himself on sure ground and wheezing, Nanu gripped his head and groaned. "Girl, you've got this―"

"What's that?" Chris, hands first on her hips, mocked him by putting a hand to her ear. "You scared to battle, you old lackey? I don't blame you! I'm an expert in kicking Rocket butt!"

Chris was obviously not as demure and innocent as he first thought. She was sassy. Outspoken. Cliche. _Annoying_. And on top of it, she was throwing around accusations that should not be spoken aloud in front of a crowd of strangers. If he felt any hesitation to engage before, he felt none now. He let out a haggard sigh and plucked a ball from his belt. "Ugh. Let's get this over with."

The Meganium stood tall and thunderous, beak clacking. He had never seen this Johto species so broad-shouldered, so florid, and so aggressive. Its paws stomped the floor until the tiles threatened to crumble, and the furniture throughout the center rattled and spewed their loose contents onto the ground. The beast's petalled mane puffed with a deeper reddish hue than the typical specimen, and a noxious smell like sour fruit filled the air, doing nothing to bring calm or peace to the arena. One glance told him it was highly trained.

He'd make quick work of it anyway. He didn't have time.

"Honchkrow."

The bird emerged from its ball and didn't have to meet his eyes to know its target; its chest puffed up, its wings unfurled a gust of wind, and under a current of whirling air, it carved a long arch up toward the ceiling and directly into the Meganium's chest.

The grass-type creature roared, reared up, and skidded violently across the floor, knocking over chairs and a magazine rack in its collapse. A horrendous clatter followed, and a few bystanders only barely made it out of the fallen monster's path. In the end, though, all was quiet as the Meganium, now on its side, lifted its head to murmur of its defeat.

Chris screamed in alarm and rage. " _Mega_!" The girl ran to its side and cradled its head in her hands. "Oh, baby, are you okay?"

The wilted Meganium only chittered and moaned.

After looking around the center and sensing a lull in the chaos, Nanu walked past a few fluttering papers and over spilled drinks. He ignored the whispers of surprise from the onlookers and approached the young woman from behind. Once he reached her, he spoke patiently. "Hey. Girl. Are you going to listen to me now?"

She snapped her head around, saw him, and scowled, her face streaked with angry tears. "This battle's not over!"

That's when he noticed the gold and silver pin fastened to her vest. He raised an eyebrow. "You're a champion."

"Yeah! And I'm n-not―gonna lose to some low-life, cheating thug! You hear me!"

"Girl…"

In the heat of the moment, she lost view of the pokemon battle and sprang up to her feet to accost him. "Where _is_ he?" Her fingers snared his coat. "Why can't you people leave him alone!? He wants _nothing to do with you_!"

Though he felt a powerful desire to shove her off, he placed two hands on her shoulders instead. " _Girl_. Cool it. I'm not a Rocket."

"Don't lie to me!"

He forced her eyes into his. "I'm police."

"You―" Her expression of hatred faltered and was replaced with confusion. "What?"

"Chris!"

The two of them untangled to find the source of the concerned voice. The head nurse, pink pigtails askew, had hurried around the counter to intervene, and knew the girl enough to take her side.

"Chris, sweetie, what on earth is going on? Are you alright?"

Chris stood silent and gaping as she struggled to process what Nanu just told her.

"Who's this man?"

"N-no one! No one at all!" Scarlet red in the face, the girl whipped about, returned her Meganium to her pokeball, and panicked, bowing profusely. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry about the mess and I _swear_ I'll clean up after myself―" Before she could ramble further, she shoved the pokeball into the nurse's hands. "Could you? Please take care of him?"

The nurse, though she seemed uncertain about leaving them alone, nodded and took the ball away.

"If you're a cop," Chris said, still pink-faced, "then prove it."

Chris must have fancied herself an investigative person, because she spent way more time than was necessary examining his badge and identification. She unfolded his wallet, tilted the shine of the medallion under the fluorescent lights, peered at every minute detail. He'd be shocked if she knew the difference between a real badge and a fake, but she sure played like she was trying to find signs of duplicity. Seeing his photo ID caused her to make a few glances back-and-forth between the picture and his real likeness, and she squinted at him like he, too, might be a fake.

"You don't _look_ like a police officer."

"Yeah," he agreed. He scratched the back of his head. "I get that a lot."

"You're retired?"

The badge did have the word "RETIRED" prominently embossed on it, so yes, evidently she could read. "Uh-huh. Can I have my wallet back?"

"Then you can't be, like, _on a case_ , right?"

Nanu sighed and snatched back his wallet. "I'm lending my expertise."

"On _what_? What's going on?"

Behind them, the center had only just started humming back to normal, and Nanu glanced over his shoulder. This wasn't an ideal place to be sharing out; he lowered his voice. "Dangerous people. Likely still in town. Your friend had to be moved."

"And you _swear_ …"

"I had breakfast with him this morning. He's fine."

" _Please_ tell me it has nothing to do with his dad."

Nanu, hearing the disgust and dread in her voice, started to become suspicious. He doubted Silver would be sharing details about his family life with just anyone, and the girl already insinuated she knew the connection to Team Rocket. He furrowed his brow at her. Were they more than work friends?

"It does, doesn't it? Urgh. I can't believe this!"

"Pipe down. Anyway, I got nothin' else to tell you. I only called to tell you he's alright―and to make sure you stay out of it. I don't need collateral damage."

"Uh, excuse me, but I'm a _champion_. If there are people who need to be beaten down, then I'm in."

Nanu looked in her eyes and saw the same burning determination he'd seen in Silver―the same arrogance earned by a long streak of successes. But he shook his head. "Sorry. It's not that kind of fight."

"But―!"

Nanu glanced past her and saw a nurse returning to the front desk. Without response, he sidled about the girl and plodded his way forward. He had an errand to get out of the way.

"Wh-what, _hey_! Don't turn your back on me!"

"Go home," he exhorted. "It's better that way."

* * *

With Chris behind him and rendered silent, he thought he could finish his task in peace. He reached the desk. The nurse, who had eyed their interactions carefully and still didn't seem endeared by Nanu's behavior, paused her piling of papers to answer his quiet, prodding stare. A nervous finger flicked a lock of pink hair under her white cap. "...Do you need something?"

"I need to step into the intensive wing."

As the nurse did not know who he was, she asked while knowing the answer, "Do you… have a pokemon in intensive care?"

"No. It belongs to a friend of mine."

"Um, I'm sorry; only staff and registered owners―"

"Check your messages."

The nurse was taken aback by this command. "I―" It took only a second more for her to take offense. "What do you mean?"

But Nanu remained calm and stuck his index finger at her monitor. "Your inbox. Check it. Message should be there."

The nurse balked, almost disbelieving him entirely until she saw the dreary seriousness of his expression. She paused. The typing she put into the computer could only be described as _tentative_ , and punctuated with nervous, suspicious flicks of her eyes in his direction _._ Nanu could pinpoint her moment of reading and revelation; her pupils dilated, followed a few lines of text, and stilled. As she took in a sudden breath, her face drained of color. "Um…" Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, and she gave Nanu a mortified look. "I see. I'm―I'm so sorry, sir, I wasn't aware... "

Finally, working for Giovanni actually opened some doors. Nanu knew the nurse acted likely under some implied threat, but she was in no real danger, and he wasn't about to feel sorry for every spineless Viridian City resident who rolled over at the slightest whiff of the criminal underworld. Giovanni probably still owned half the town and held sway over local politics and law enforcement.

Nanu only assuaged her by saying, "It's fine."

"Please. I'll cooperate fully."

Was she going to start crying and begging? "Uh-huh."

"But… The pokemon you want... isn't in intensive care anymore. It's made a full recovery."

"Great," Nanu said as blandly as possible. "Sounds like it's ready to go home, then."

No doubt the nurse wanted to remind him that pokemon could only be signed over to their owners, but the message cowed her. Round-eyed and pale, she said, "Whatever I can do to help, sir."

"I'll be needing its medical files, too."

The nurse cringed―then suddenly changed focus to someone behind him.

" _Ex-cuse_ me," a voice said.

Nanu, knowing full well who it was, shut his eyes and tried to find a moment of zen. He failed. An elbow knocked into his arm where the champion nudged past him, so he glared at her. "What is it now?"

"I need my Meganium back," Chris told him, sneering. "If you don't _mind_."

The nurse's expression flickered, like waking from an unpleasant dream. She fumbled for a tray on the countertop, and proceeded to knock an item or two over in her anxiousness, but finally, she found the girl's pokemon and handed it back, trembling.

When the ball fell back into the girl's hands, she, reading the nurse's clear distress, asked, "Did he threaten you?" (She didn't pause to hear an answer). "You shouldn't let him."

Nanu let out a low, harsh growl and wrenched on the bill of her cap. "Girl," he hissed, "I already told you to scram."

"You're checking on his Weavile, aren't you?"

He might have clocked her if he didn't know any better. "Now you're trying my patience."

"It's part of how I knew something was wrong, you know. He left his Weavile here―just _left_ it and didn't come back for it. He wouldn't do that!"

"...And?"

"I'm not leaving until you tell me what happened!"

The kahuna didn't mean for cruelty to enter his brain the way that it did in that moment. Frustration had dragged him, and cynicism had tainted his view of her, this sheltered, overconfident girl who believed that she knew the world. Nanu had encountered her type before. Trainers who traveled well and battled in the grandest arenas, before rapturous crowds and in the harshest of environments. They were strong. Entitled. And entirely delusional. They would chalk themselves up as the tough and world-weary, as if they'd seen the darkest places the world had to offer. In reality, this world had been designed for them. It catered to their every need.

So Nanu, in a fit of bitterness and contempt, said, "You know what? How about we look at that report together."

* * *

Because the nurse didn't want any untoward attention or prying eyes, she invited them to follow her through the intensive wing. As they went through the swinging doors and down the empty hall, Nanu didn't stop or pay any attention to details beyond the drab color scheme and ghostly clack of feet on linoleum. Chris's booted footsteps were more erratic and distracted; she paused several times to peer through the glass partitions offering a view of patients. Only a few pokemon rested on hospital's tables or beds, and none of them had any obvious, traumatic injuries. All either slept or dozed.

The sight of them must have sapped some sass out of her, because Chris said nothing even when the two of them were left to wait outside a closed door. She tapped the heel of her boots on the wall, fidgeted with the hems of her gloves.

Time came to standstill.

At last, though, the nurse emerged with a folder cluttered with papers and tenuously held together with a series of paperclips.

"So, that's it?" Chris looked at the nurse in disappointment. "He just asks for it, and he gets it?"

Nanu shot her a glare and accepted the gift, opening it in one hand. "I asked nicely." Bingo. Photographs. He unfastened them and gave them a glance-over; nothing shocking, merely close-ups of the wounds; good quality, too. "Here." He foisted them over to Chris. "You're a Ranger. Tell me what you think."

As the trainer stared slack-jawed at the photographs, the nurse interjected, "We still don't know what kind of pokemon move would pierce flesh and leave burns like this… I'd never seen anything like it."

Nanu overlooked the nurse's ignorance. She wasn't trained in how to recognize or treat gunshot wounds. He turned to face Chris head-on, his eyes trained on the injury diagram. "Well… let's see… Entry wound _here_." He jabbed a finger in the girl's right side, just below the shoulder. She flinched and froze. "Exit wound out the lower back. Shooter was standing. That much adds up."

" _Shooter_? What are you―"

He ignored the nurse and looked Chris in the eyes. His index finger remained pinned at her shoulder. "You know what stippling is?"

The trainer, wide-eyed and trembling, shook her head.

"It's residue left by a shot when let off at point-blank range. Leaves powder, and sometimes burns." He glanced down at the file again and clicked his tongue in disappointment. "My guess is these weren't seasoned hitmen. A marksman worth his salt would've aimed for the kill and gotten it. This one was startled. Panicked. Just pointed and pulled the trigger, let off shots in the dark. Lucky to have hit anything."

The nurse gasped, clapped a hand over her mouth, and uttered a breathless epithet.

In one sudden movement, Chris knocked his hand away, flung the photographs to the floor, and ran, leaving him and the nurse to themselves.

A moment of awkward silence came between them.

"...Eh. Figures." Nanu grunted, stooped down, and collected the photos back into his hand. Now, he could focus his interview on the real questions.

* * *

Nanu fully expected the girl to be long gone when he returned to the center's front of house, but he came out to find her seated alone in the waiting area. She had slumped, like the energy had been sapped forcefully out of her.

He ought to leave her be. The shock had done enough to convince her to stay out of his hair. But he decided to prod her anyway. Maybe he felt bad about it. Just a sliver. Especially as he got close and noticed that her trembling hadn't subsided.

"Hey, you."

Even standing next to her, his shadow cast over her, she didn't look up. She faced her lap, where her hands bound in strained, knotted fists. The only evidence that she heard him came when her fingers tightened.

"I told you to stay out of it. It's not your kind of fight," he said, as it bore repeating. "The men who did this aren't trainers. What they did to that Weavile, they may have meant for your friend. Understand?"

"No," she blubbered, sounding profoundly hurt. "No, I don't. I don't _understand_."

Thankful that she wasn't looking up, Nanu rolled his eyes. To his mind, she was too old to be making a scene. Patting her on the shoulder might be socially acceptable at this point, but he refrained from even that much effort.

"People… people who treat pokemon like they're just tools… Or something to make money off of… They're the lowest of the low!" She shook her head in disbelief. "But who would even do that? Who would try to kill an innocent creature for no reason at all?"

"They had a reason."

Bleary-eyed and red-faced, she looked up at him.

"Yeesh. What kinda naive kid are you? Nobody does anything without a reason. The Weavile was in their way."

The anger that had previously subsided in her flashed back to life. "Oh, I guess that makes it _okay_ then!"

"...That's not what I'm saying."

"The way you talked in there… You didn't feel anything, did you? This doesn't affect you at all!"

Nanu shrugged, his face plain. "Doesn't matter how I feel. The plan is to find the bad guys."

"Right. 'The bad guys.' I know who you're working for. How do you sleep at night?" She faltered to mutter disdainfully, "What am I saying? The big, fat paycheck helps."

Any other person would have taken offense at this, and then spent some arduous amount of time and energy defending themselves, explaining exactly how utterly and perniciously _wrong_ she was. This was an accusation levied at his honor to the basest level. If he could not answer it, he ought to weigh its worth and use it for reflection.

But he had no time, and the allegations bored him.

"Whatever. You got a message you wanna pass on to the boy?"

Chris leaped to her feet, almost knocking him over in the process, and barked, breaths staggered, "Just stay away from me, you―you creepy weirdo!" Rattling with ranger gear, she bolted for the door and left out into the midday street.

...Well.

Wouldn't be the first time he had talk with a girl end on that note.


	6. False Face

By day, the gate and pathway up towards Giovanni's property glinted in the sun. It struck Nanu on the ride over that this was, in fact, only his second time experiencing this particular road, yet it felt entirely new and unfamiliar. It lacked the mystique and danger of the previous night. Now, light shed through the gauzy maple leaves hanging overhead, casting amber and bronze luster over the forest floor. The colors and tender breeze gave the path and house emerging around the bend a misleading, welcoming air, as if anyone should feel free to wander onto the land and make themselves at home.

When the car began to pull in to what he recognized now as a roundabout, he saw a fountain bubbling in the center lawn, its marble base affixed with a carved rendition of Gyrados belching streams of water into the pool. He wondered how he could have missed such a gaudy feature during the first drive in, and subsequently spent too long lingering his gaze on it.

Then, the bang of an open palm struck his window. He flinched.

"The hell…?"

It was the kid.

Nanu had expected to be hassled by Giovanni upon his return to the estate, and so was more than alarmed when the boy came banging on the car window. Even the driver stuttered the vehicle to a halt by slamming the brake to accommodate Silver's aggressive approach.

After recovering from his shock, Nanu exchanged a credulous look with the driver and cracked open his door. The fresh air hit him, and he snidely remarked, "Kid, you scared me half to death."

"Well? Do you have him!?"

By reading both Silver's tone and facial expression, Nanu could tell the boy wasn't interested in saying hello. He had to let the question sit on his brain a moment before he realized what Silver meant. "Oh." With a grunt, Nanu pushed the door fully out and dragged himself onto his feet. He had to ignore Silver's impatient fidgeting; finally, he creaked upright, put a hand to his hip, and produced a ball. "Here."

Silver didn't breathe a word of thanks. He simply snapped the ball up, stuffed it deep into the pocket of his peacoat, and shuffled off toward a footpath through the garden. His red ponytail rippled in the wind.

Nanu didn't throw a fuss. Kid no doubt was in a hurry for some privacy and bonding time. Nanu did, however, breathe a rough sigh and rest his elbow on the car door. He surveyed the front stoop. No one there. The whole place had an air of being abandoned, and for a moment, he felt an inward chill, like something wasn't right.

But the feeling and stillness didn't last. After he hoisted his messenger bag over his shoulder and shutting the car door behind him, the front of the house finally rattled open, and the sound of stern shoes hitting the pavement followed. Without looking, Nanu knew it wasn't Giovanni. The pace was too quick.

"Sir."

The head of the security team moved in like a missile until he stood a little too close, almost pinning Nanu's body to the vehicle's carapace.

"Do you have anything to report?"

Saying nothing, Nanu planted a hand on the guard's chest and pushed him back about three paces.

The man proved so startled by the minor assault that he didn't protest, but hobbled backward until he stood a more polite distance away. "Erm―" The morbid, severe expression on the man's face flickered. He put his hands at his back as a show of deference. "So, nothing, then?"

"What was your name again?"

The suited man stiffened and straightened his back, puffing up to appear more authoritative. "It's Strauss."

"Okay. Strauss. I'm assuming you have video surveillance equipment, right?"

"...Why?"

"Don't gotta play coy; of course you do." Nanu pushed a hand into his bag and produced a CD in a case. "There's footage on here. I'll be wanting a look."

Stupefied, the man glanced down and accepted the disc into his grasp.

"Where's the boss-man?"

"He's in a meeting," Strauss answered bluntly.

Nanu waited for follow-up information, but seeing none forthcoming, he pressured, "And when can I see him?"

As if it were the dumbest question he'd ever heard, Strauss answered, "He has a very busy schedule today."

Today? Did that mean he wouldn't be meeting Giovanni again until tomorrow? If so, this seemed to be a sign of peculiar priorities.

"I'll examine this for you. You should return to your quarters, unless you're thinking of making another trip."

"No. S'fine." Nanu pointed rudely with his finger in the direction of the house. "You don't think I could just pop in there and say 'hi'-"

"When he has the time to talk to you, you will know. Go to the guest house and stay out of his way."

* * *

It was just as well; Nanu needed time to do more research.

Before he could get to his digging, he spent an inordinate and downright wasteful amount of time bustling through the guest house's austere kitchenette in the hopes of finding coffee. He found a sealed bag of grounds between other stacks of untouched dry goods, and from the lower cupboard, a coffee press still in its packaging. The price labels hadn't even come off yet.

It took some doing, then, but a fresh cup later, he had the pep to slouch back into his room and return to solitary work.

Unfortunately, searching up the Shén family, which Looker mentioned as a possible lead, didn't give him much. After leafing through his given files, he found the surname in only one place: a profile of man named Batu-jin, described in brief as a former leader of the Black Dragons―former on account of his passing several years ago. Little information could be derived from what Nanu had on hand, and an archive search online proved even less useful. A cryptic footnote implied Batu-jin might have children, but it was impossible to know if any of these offspring had taken the helm, or if control of the clan had fallen into a rival's clutches. For sure, Nanu suspected the death would prove to be a factor in the current mess; the death of a long-time leader, and especially of a patriarch who from all accounts ruled with iron stability and brutality, inevitably left a power vacuum from which trouble could start.

He would need Interpol's files. Another hurdle to jump through.

Just when he started to search for other possible sources―some non-digitized, curated collection of old books or documents could contain helpful records―he felt a rough, wet sandpaper texture scrape his ear. A tooth needled the cartilage next, and he grunted from pain before stretching his arm behind himself. He could feel the downy fur of his Persian's forehead and the tickle of its wiry whiskers against his neck.

"Got tired of being cooped up, huh?" Nanu crooked his face back and was greeted with a warm purr. His fingers buried into the fuzz at the creature's humming throat. "I don't blame you. Let's take a break."

Nanu had to get up―all the way―from the floor-level seating in careful fashion by sliding himself onto his knees and creaking into standing position on the soft tatami. He stepped over stacks of papers he had left strewn on the floor in haphazard piles, though the cat showed no such care, trampling and crumpling papers where it walked. His Persian then went on to follow him to the paper slider, which Nanu pushed open and stepped through back onto the wooden veranda outside. The grounds outside the guest house had gone quiet and still, not so much as a shiver in the grass. With the sun just starting to warm the midday, Nanu left his coat behind and planted himself on the platform for a well-earned and long-awaited smoke.

While he drew out and lit up a cigarette, his Persian hopped down onto the grass and gave a long, lazy stretch, its nails ripping at the turf as if it were old carpet. Through a screen of milky smoke, Nanu watched it circle and sniff the unfamiliar environment until it stopped, rippled its shoulders, and mawed with a mix of threat and curiosity at something outside of his line of sight.

Nanu moved his gaze in that direction and caught sight of a small, bipedal creature skidding over the planks, its nightshade black fur contrasting with its glistening white claws and crimson feathers. Before he could say anything, the Weavile hopped down to join his Persian in a circling bluff; in a playful, energetic manner, it puffed its head-plumage and waved its claw about in challenge.

Nanu could see its chest bandages, though, so when Persian lifted its paw to bat back, he warned, "Princess, no."

On cue, footsteps emerged from the neighboring suite; a vexed voice called after the smaller creature. "Weavile!" Silver paced briskly for the edge of the veranda but stopped short of stepping down himself. He barked his order with strained authority. "Get back here!"

"It's all right," Nanu said, catching the boy by surprise. "She won't hurt 'im."

Silver frowned at him. "He's supposed to be resting."

"At least he looks lively."

A long, pained stare out at the two bluffing creatures followed, but in time, the boy decided to leave them be. Instead of turning around and heading back into his room, Silver continued to stand and watch. He resorted to awkward small-talk. "I've never seen a Persian like that."

"Alolan speciality."

"Alola?" Silver considered this and tilted his head. "It's kinda… dopey-looking."

"Hey, watch your mouth. She's sensitive."

Silver smirked, but fidgeted with a hint of guilty awareness; his prior rudeness caught up with him, so he awkwardly leaned against a pillar, tapped his heel against it, and muttered, "I didn't say it before, but thanks."

"...Forget it," Nanu deflected. Knowing it would annoy the boy, he added, "You should thank your father. He arranged for it."

Silver predictably wrinkled his nose.

But Nanu didn't prod any more than that. With a brisk hand movement, he snuffed out the stub of his cigarette on the veranda floor and wrested another from his pack. Small-talk always felt better with a smoke, so he proffered one between his fingers. "Wanna cigarette?"

"I don't smoke."

Nanu, playing dejected, flipped the cigarette back against his palm. "Guess you've been raised right. Ah well."

By that time, Silver had traced his eyes in the opposite direction, soon glancing behind them and through the open door leading into Nanu's room. Curiosity drove the boy to peer through, and he noted the papers all about the floor.

Nanu wasn't surprised by Silver's urge to peek. The kid had shown desperation to get involved. "It's a controlled chaos," Nanu said as an excuse.

"Uh, sure." Silver gave it a critical glare. "So… You don't want some kind of wall for that stuff?"

"What, corkboard, pushpins, and string?" Nanu yawned and waved dismissively. "You watch too many movies. I got my system."

"Okay, then, what have you found so far?"

"Relax, kiddo. It's only been a few hours."

"The sooner you do your job, the sooner my life goes back to normal," Silver told him with staunch, misplaced faith. Nanu's condescension brought back his foul mood. "What are your qualifications again?"

"You wanna skim my CV, go ask your daddy."

"But you're from Alola?" Silver pointed for the Persian, who now rolled belly-up on the turf, as proof.

Nanu brushed his neck with his hand and groaned. Now what was the kid getting at? He assented cautiously, "Yeah, so?"

"Alola's police force isn't exactly big-time. Why would Dad hire you, of all people?"

"Eh." With a shrug, Nanu folded a leg on the floor, wedging his foot against his thigh. His dull eyes remained on the horizon. "Personal reasons, I suppose."

"Bullshit. He doesn't hire people that way."

"Maybe he's getting sentimental in his old age." Nanu could feel the protest building up in Silver's inhale of breath; he decided to cut him off. "Look. It's not a secret, so I can just tell you, and you can quit bothering me about it: I used to work for Interpol."

"What!?" Silver's expression widened with shock. Evidently, Nanu did not put off vibes of past prestige. "So… Does that mean―did you used to investigate Team Rocket, or―?"

"Nah. They kept me far away from that business." Nanu sensed a lingering unease and defensiveness from the boy and made a deduction. He cocked an eyebrow at him. "Interpol hassle you before?"

"No…" Silver shoved his hands in his pockets―a transparent show of nerves. "I mean, not really. It wasn't like I was that involved."

Nanu stared, suddenly lost in thought. Silver had grown up with minimal contact with his father, according to all information thus far; he must have not proven especially useful if Interpol hadn't attempted to manipulate him. No Team Rocket ties on his father's side… But what of the mother? Giovanni's social circle had always been tight, so Nanu would be shocked to find that the kid's mother existed outside the crime syndicate. That would mean the mother, too, made a conscious choice to keep Silver away from the Rockets. He wondered.

However, unnerved by the prolonged silence, Silver interrupted his thoughts. "What's with that look?"

"Tryin' to make sense of you. That's all."

"Well, stop." Silver folded his arms tightly at his chest, as if to ward off his gaze. "It's creeping me out."

Nanu chuffed and averted his eyes, a smile growing at his lips. He couldn't blame Silver for disliking the analysis; the kid probably had to suffer through it enough on account of his father. Nanu pushed himself to his feet and turned for his room. He stepped through the open door, and as he expected, Silver lingered close to his doorway like he had more to say.

The kahuna stepped over some papers and admitted aloud, "I haven't got you all figured out, but, I think now I know why you became a ranger."

Silver, hearing the slyness in his voice, stiffened. "What?"

"Tell me about the girl," Nanu teased.

"What _girl_?"

Nanu didn't prolong the game, but pulled up his coat from the floor, drew the poster from its pocket, and wordlessly unfolded it for the boy to look at. Silver, not knowing what it was, approached and took hold of it, saw that his picture was printed on the paper, and skimmed the text, expressing his dismay by sinking his face into the poster. He moaned. "Oh my god."

"I got to meet her. Quite the peach, that one."

Red-faced, Silver crumpled the paper with a clench of his fingers. "You don't know what you're talking about," he huffed. "She's a friend."

"Right."

"Don't―!" Out of nowhere, Silver's demeanor changed from mildly irritated to desperate. He charged toward Nanu, closing their distance in a mere second and doing his best to intimidate the old man by sticking his nose dangerously into Nanu's personal space. "You can-not mention her to my dad."

"Don't want him to know about your girl?"

"Look! Shut up! She―there's history, okay?" For a moment, Silver struggled with how to phrase it. "Team Rocket had this big comeback attempt in Johto…" He shook his head before he began his explanation. "You're a cop. You should know."

"Yeah. I heard."

"She's the one who kicked them out again."

"...Uh-huh." Come to think of it, the girl had bragged about how much Team Rocket tail she had beaten before. An unbidden grin overtook his face. "Mackin' on a mortal enemy of his, eh? You're a brave one."

"It's not like I'm afraid of him," Silver countered hotly. "I just don't need to hear him whine about my choice of friends."

"Mmm."

Hearing Nanu's credulousness, Silver dug in his heels. "Dad might act like he's this tough and scary guy, but he's really not. All he ever did as the Team Rocket boss was sit at home and sip wine while his underlings did all the dirty work."

Nanu shrugged. He wasn't in the business of defending Giovanni, but the boy's complaints didn't strike him as especially dire. "He delegates. Nothin' wrong with that."

"He's a coward," Silver declared. "He hides behind his pokemon and money."

Nanu opened his mouth―then stopped.

A memory came back then. A memory he hadn't touched in decades, now caked in dust and muted in color, save for a slim few details piercing through the fog. In some ways, it proved more to be a feeling than an image: the deep-seated envy and sadism of his youth, the sting in his eyes and suffocating burn in his throat when he witnessed other children with advantages he never had. As a scrawny, hardly-loved and rough-knuckled preteen, the young Kuchinashi roamed the streets and schoolyard in search of easy victims, especially smaller, weaker boys with shining shoes, fresh clothes, and expensive haircuts. He took pleasure in their fear of him. Pleasure in punishing them for their favorable fate.

That was what drew him to Sakaki. As a measly second grader, Sakaki was too many years his junior to be a true peer, so Kuchinashi knew him only by appearances―that rich boy, well-to-do, know-it-all little punk who probably needed to be knocked down a peg, just on principle. And so he did. He cornered him, threatened him, shoved him about, and took what he could.

Nanu didn't remember how many times he managed to do this before Sullivan found out about his campaign of harassment (and consequently whipped the daylights out of him for it; there was no forgetting that). In any case, it had been more than once, and each time, Kuchinashi sought out that look of fear, but could not find it. Sakaki would surrender his pocket money and books and whatever else Kuchinashi demanded of him, but Sakaki would not give that to him. This boy half Kuchinashi's size took the abuse with eerie patience and resolve; he would look flustered. Frustrated. Angry. Not afraid.

So of all the accusations Nanu could ever dream of aiming at Giovanni, 'coward' hadn't entered his mind. Thief, yes. Criminal. Liar. Manipulator. Narcissist. Fiend. But coward?

Nanu had no way of telling this to Silver in a timely or clear manner, and it didn't matter, because the two were interrupted by a squall from their pokemon. Princess at last had enough of the Weavile's misbehavior and, with a finality and authority only she could get away with, seized the bewildered creature by the scruff to drag it back to its owner. She did it so carefully that even Silver couldn't fault her for it; the red-haired trainer only heaved a sigh and stooped down to retrieve his pokemon from the Persian's jaws.

* * *

Nanu remained on the veranda after Silver went back inside, leaving the old man to admire the line of forest, water, and sky. He watched a solitary white cloud drift at a snail's pace across the noon-day horizon, and this went on to be the only movement in front of him for several minutes when the wind stilled. His Persian joined him on the veranda by climbing up onto the planks, rolling onto its back, stretching its furry belly in the sun, and going to sleep, which didn't seem like a bad idea, except that he could use something to eat before going for a nap.

Then, a sound broke over the far hill. A deep, rumbling, hissing sound that carried far across the yard, and which startled his Persian awake; the cat mawed and flipped onto its stomach, claws drawn and ears flat with alarm. Nanu followed its intense gaze to find the source of the noise: purple and blue scaled ears just over the edge of the grassy knoll, eventually emerging as the trampling forms of a Nidoking and Nidoqueen. The creatures moved in dinosaur pace, stomping and sliding across the soft, yielding earth of a dirt path toward the garden. Excitable rumbling could be heard from their throats even this far away, and their ears fanned in the sun's warmth.

"Must be his team." Nanu stretched an arm about his Persian's shoulder and began to scratch at its nape. "Could be feeding time."

A thought struck him. He lifted himself and landed his feet on the grass.

"C'mon."

As a natural-born snoop, Nanu felt comfortable stalking the pair of beasts across the way. He followed them for several yards on the dirt path, then over a waterway―the mated pair chose to messily tread water and climb over stepping stones, leaving him and his Persian with a more leisurely crossing at a ruby-colored bridge. He stayed at a polite distance as to not rile them; Nidoking were notoriously ill-tempered, especially about being tracked, and he didn't need to be charged by a cranky bull.

The garden that spanned out at the bottom of the hill had all the zen and style of a traditional Kanto affair. He plodded and crunched his shoes on gravel paths lined with strategically-placed stone, ferns, and moss, and was surrounded by the prickly evergreens and twisted trunks of blush-rose cherry trees. The walkway seemed to snake erratically about pools of water, empty now of the waterlilies that would have bloomed in the spring and now dappled with the shed leaves of autumn. At one bend, he passed a man-made waterfall gurgling into inky water overlooked with the sad, slumped faces of stone and weeping willows. At another, a branch of the path stopped dead before an immense, leviathanic maple tree, its bulk and branches spiralling out into the sky in a knotted, knuckled maze of dark wood fanning out its leaves, like an endless hydra breathing fire into the sky.

Nanu walked so long and far that his Persian began to grow impatient. It swished its tail and growled with every minute that passed. But at last, they took a turn opposite from the direction of Giovanni's work-out gym and found a smaller structure near the natural lakeside.

A black-tiled roof, pointed and sloped much like a pagoda's, peaked through the shelter of nearby maples. From far away, the building could have been mistaken for an open shrine, but a closer look revealed its more utilitarian, practical design: brick walls separated the interior into dedicated stalls, each fitted with straw, feeding troughs, and water sources. No gates closed off the stalls; they would serve as resting and feeding locations, not night-time lock-up. Without fences, then, the extent of the paddock was demarcated by a large plot of raked sand, which had by now already been shifted and messied by the excited movement of animals.

The Nidoking and Nidoqueen had reached their destination―a conjoined stall―and squatted over bins brimming with feed. Other stalls and areas about the stable were meanwhile overrun with active, hungry beasts: a Sandslash digging through its bowl, a Golem clamped shut into its shell and rolling anxiously about the paddock, a Honchkrow standing in a feedbin and plucking at morsels, and a Kangaskhan sitting in the corner of its stall, evidently tending to its young.

Nanu stood at the far end of the entryway, his one hand absentmindedly scratching his Persian's wiggling head. He began to approach only when he caught sight of a storage shack with shuddering double-doors, from which an ample-shouldered man in work clothes emerged, a bucket in his leather-gloved hands.

Giovanni. As Nanu suspected.

The man was so absorbed in his task that he didn't notice Nanu's presence, instead dropping his bucket next to an unattended stall and circling for an open sack of feed. He lifted it over his shoulder as if it required no effort, reached the open doorway to the shack, slung the bag onto its floor, and proceeded to exit, sealing a padlock behind him. A dark but dusty work jacket fit over his white knit sweater, and he tread the length of the paddock in work boots, all of which, at least to Nanu, felt typically over-the-top theatrical and unnecessary. In fact, Giovanni seemed overdressed in more ways than one, considering the time of day, the warming weather, and the physical strain of the work he had just finished.

Nanu made his way behind him and revelled in the sliver of shock that crossed Giovanni's face when he turned around.

"Hey," Nanu said. "Nice sweater."

Giovanni recovered from his surprise and answered, ignoring the sarcasm. "Kuchinashi. What are you..."

"I was taking a walk."

"...I see." Judging his honesty, Giovanni glanced past him and up the path. He must have calculated that his arrival could be no accident, not this deep into the garden. He began to peel off his gloves. "I should have expected as much. How can I help you?"

"Didn't see you when I got back. Here I was, thinking you'd be nagging me." Nanu cocked his head. "For a guy being threatened by gangsters, you don't seem all that worried."

"I don't micromanage." With a few brisk steps, Giovanni made his way past Nanu and toward the rolling form of his Golem. He gave a whistle and coaxed it to his side, and the beast lolled obediently toward him, almost at a sulking pace. As it stilled beneath Giovanni's hand, Nanu saw the cause of its agitation: its scales had begun to crumble and crack from its yearly shed. "I assume investigations such as yours take time. In the meanwhile, I have numerous responsibilities that can't be put on hold."

Nanu waited, but Giovanni didn't ask what he'd found that morning. Nanu fixed his thumbs into his belt-loop and hummed with thought, but didn't offer his findings without this prompting.

"Well, then, Officer, seeing as you've come all this way, perhaps you'd like to investigate the quality of care my pokemon receive."

The condescension in Giovanni's voice was perfectly intentional. The man had never been faulted for how he treated his team; as an obsessively competitive trainer, he had always been on the verge of pampering them with all the feeding, grooming, and attention he offered. The investigators who profiled Giovanni would call this behavior altruistic means for selfish ends-they would say that he did only what he needed to procure the performance he wanted. Nanu was more careful in his judgment. He'd watched Giovanni raise different pokemon since they were children, and he couldn't fairly call the man's interaction with them mechanistic or cold. Even now, Giovanni weaved his fingers between his Golem's scales with natural, unthinking affection, and without a hint of performance.

Seeing this, though, only made Nanu think more about the extensive legacy of atrocities Giovanni had left in his wake. Nanu swallowed back a slick of frustration. "You wanna show off," he corrected him rudely. "So go ahead."

"But how rude of me. Perhaps you'd like to introduce yours first."

The old, playground, I'll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-yours game. Nanu pushed his hands deep into his pockets and grazed his eyes over the Persian at his side. "Don't have my others on me, but whatever. This here's Princess. Say hello."

His Persian promptly yawned, its whiskers shuddering, and flashing its vicious, sharp teeth and pink tongue.

"I've never encountered the Alolan breed before," Giovanni said. He tried not to sound too fascinated. "What are its benefits?"

"Dark-type."

"Your specialty."

"That's right."

Giovanni stole a long, silent moment to stare at the creature with piqued interest; he studied its contours and form as he would a work of art. Then, a cryptic emotion flickered in his expression, tugging at his lips and narrowing his eyes in a bedeviled hint of a smile.

Nanu grumpily harrumphed. "What."

"You don't think it's funny? This unexpected parallel between us."

Right. Of course Giovanni would point out their shared interest in the feline pokemon. Nanu deflected as deftly as possible. "Don't read too much into it. Wasn't on purpose. Strays show up at my place in droves; she happened to stay longer than most. That's all."

"That it wasn't intentional doesn't make it seem any less fated."

Nanu dropped the word from his tongue like it weighed a ton; he couldn't conceal his unease at its mention. "'Fated'?"

"You're a kahuna. Don't you believe in that sort of thing?"

"Don't screw with me," Nanu snapped. Though he couldn't catch any cynicism in Giovanni's voice, he strongly suspected that mockery was the intention. "I know you _don't_."

Giovanni responded only with a self-satisfied, understated guffaw, and declined to comment. He slid his boots in the sand toward the stables, in a snapping motion like a soldier in heel-turn. "It's my turn. This should be a reintroduction." Before Nanu could understand what he meant, he called out with a sharp, crisp tone: "Tristan. Isolde."

While the two groaned and shuffled sluggishly away from their feed, ears flapping and tails asway, Nanu realized why those names sounded so familiar. He cast Giovanni a look of disbelief. "They're not―"

"The same ones you knew? That is exactly who they are. I'm surprised you didn't recognize them."

Nanu hadn't forgotten the male and female Nidoran that used to trail behind Sakaki about everywhere he went. But that was several decades ago, so Nanu had also instinctively assumed these would be a new generation. Few serious trainers stuck out with their childhood pokemon as they moved into competitive circuits; all either bred new lineages, captured fresh specimens, or retired their old team in favor of a youthful, more balanced set.

Yet here, they ambled forward across the paddock, moving at alarming speed for their master.

Last he saw of these two, they were a timid, squeaking pair of love-bunnies that Giovanni had yet to harden into beasts of battle; they could both fit on the boy's lap, and in fact, they could often be found there, inseparably bundled together while Sakaki graciously, patiently worked around them. He never asked Sakaki about the details of their capture―that would be an intimate question for a boy to ask another―but he gathered that he caught them within the same trip into the grassy fields past the northern rim of residential homes, and therefore, it could be inferred that the pair had bonded before he came to acquire them. A mated pair. Any other trainer, Nanu thought, would have plucked one away and left the other. To do otherwise introduced redundancy into a team, and redundancy could ruin a battle. Then what must have gone through Sakaki's mind? After successfully capturing one, then seeing its partner hiding in the brush, twitching its ears, staring with painful longing, with desperation? Did he take pity on it? Or calculate some imperceptible advantage?

Whatever the case, proof of Giovanni's decision and its consequences stood before Nanu now: the Nidoking and Nidoqueen towered over them both, eyes fixed on their master and him. On closer examination, he could see all the signs of their age and experience, including their war-torn armor painted with scars from past battles, their faded, cracked, and leathery skin, and the stiff discharge gumming their eyes, nostrils, and gaping jaws. Long ropes of acidic drool and foam dangled from their tusks, and their lungs rattled with power and weariness. They would still fight and win if they had to, he imagined, but they would be exhausted by the effort, and so they both seemed to preserve their strength by quaking with threat and spewing noxious, hateful air as a warning.

Nanu could hardly believe it. He scratched his head and looked them over with a discerning eye. "Criminy. Gotta be moving up in years."

"The Nidoran family can live up to sixty-given the right care." To continue his bragging, Giovanni approached the Nidoking's side and planted a palm on its rumbling chest. "I'm afraid the peak of their careers is behind them now, though. They spend most of their days roaming the property as they please."

"Makes sense," Nanu agreed. "They don't have much work to do nowadays, you not being a gym leader anymore."

Giovanni's shoulder twitched. He paused, looked away, and made a noncommittal, deflated noise of acknowledgement as he stepped away from the massive creature.

Nanu sensed the topic was a sore spot and made a ruthless move for it. "Who's running the place these days?"

Giovanni pretended that he had to think about it before coming up with an answer. "A young man named Blue. A former Kanto champion. I hear he does well."

"You ever miss the gig?"

"I think―" Giovanni disguised a wince by blinking against a breeze. "It is a job best suited for the young."

The numerous gym leaders reaching and surpassing middle age might dispute that. Another excuse. Nanu tapped a finger on his forearm as he contemplated those words. "I remember when you got picked for the job. You were elated. Relieved, really."

The needling pressure of his analysis finally started doing its job. If Giovanni didn't have command of his faculties, he'd be visibly squirming; as it was, he busied himself with loose feed buckets.

"I mean, hell, I might be wrong. Just seemed like you saw it as your chance to get out." Nanu let that thought simmer―let distant memories bubble and stew―then made another cut. "Did it hurt? Having to keep shutting down the place to go mop up your mother's messes―"

"...Kuchinashi."

Nanu stopped and listened.

"...Let's do lunch."

* * *

Giovanni's favorite salve for any situation, it seemed, was a hearty meal. Not that Nanu had a problem with this. He would accept food as a social lubricant, especially if it cost him nothing. So after a leisurely walk back through the garden, they returned to the kitchen, where Giovanni in short order heated broth, blanched noodles, and was in the process of slicing scallions.

Princess wandered off, evidently feeling she had free reign of the place. This would get interesting once she found the rightful owner of the territory, but Nanu chose not to worry about that, and Giovanni didn't comment on it either, and simply watched her sniff the walls and slink into the outer hall. In the meantime, as food was readied and the fur hadn't started to fly, Nanu settled at the dining table, elbows on the polished wood all aglow with midday sun.

Nanu didn't wait long to start pestering the cook; the meal was meant to be a ploy, and he hadn't forgotten that. "You know, I woulda thought, all the money you got, you'd have a fleet of cooking staff."

Giovanni flicked the green onion from his knife blade. "What a waste that would be," he mused. "I enjoy cooking; it clears my mind."

"Uh-huh." He sniffed dismissively, but caught a whiff off the food. He remembered then he had not gotten to eat earlier; his stomach churned eagerly. "Well, anyway. I burn my instant ramen, so good on you, I guess." In the pause of conversation, he heard the porcelain rim of bowls being moved, the soft thrush of broth pouring and seeping into wheat noodles. His fingers tapped the table. "I scoped out the crime scene, and the center where your kid ran after the fact. Best as I can tell, they weren't hit-men. Abductors, more likely. Shots were clumsy. Doubt they meant to do anything but grab him."

Giovanni didn't answer. He seemed preoccupied with his dishes, and took a few seconds to balance chopsticks atop each bowl for serving.

With a hint of impatience, Nanu pushed: "You have any theories?"

"Please―let's save the business talk for later."

This was not the reaction Nanu expected from a father being told that his son had narrowly missed being a kidnapping victim. The lack of concern and urgency irked him. "Wouldn't call it 'business talk' myself, as it's about your-"

Giovanni cut him off. "Here we are," he announced. In a careful glide, he brought the first bowl of ramen to the table and set it before him, even taking the time to twist it so that the chopsticks lay precisely perpendicular to his line of sight. Giovanni lingered a moment, like he expected or desired some kind of compliment, but relented when none was obviously forthcoming. "How about a beer?"

"Sakaki―" A sharp exhale exited his nostrils. He had up until this moment been happy to take a meal without complaint, but now, he clamped down on the bridge of his nose, fighting a blistering, frustrated headache. "I swear I'm about to goddamn lose it with you. What are you doing?"

Giovanni looked queryingly at him.

"You didn't bring me here to play house with you. I'm here to do a job."

"Yes, and I trust you will do it. Now, did you want a beer or not?"

Nanu didn't oblige him with an answer. He levied an elbow onto the tabletop, set his eyes on him, and glared, his face rigid with annoyance.

Giovanni, though, didn't seem to need a reply. He sighed, as if Nanu's challenge was no more serious than the backtalk of a surly teenager, and in a series of swift, strong steps, he circled about the counter to retrieve his own bowl. Of the seats open at the table, he chose the one at the end, next to Nanu.

It was when he went back to open the refrigerator that he began to think aloud, his voice dripping with confidence. "I know the source of your irritation, Kuchinashi." The clink of two glass bottles echoed; he brought one for each of them, and planted them on the table as he took his seat. Nanu hadn't budged, but he ignored it. "Over the years, I have come to know a number of Dark-type trainers. They seem to share certain characteristics. They're sly. Adaptable. Tricky. Prone to treachery and deceit. But they also seem to share a dislike for ambiguity. They tend to see things in terms of black and white." Giovanni adjusted his bowl, and for a time admired the red ceramic, the oily gleam of the steaming broth. His expression remained studious and contemplative, without judgment. "I have wondered why that is; it struck me as counter-intuitive. One would think a master of Dark-types would come to recognize the blurred lines between good and evil. But I have a theory. People who live out wicked, conniving ways see evil in everyone. They are suspicious because they see the darkness inside of themselves. This feeds their hypervigilance and absolutism, and so, to such people, others are either friends or enemies. Nothing in between."

After enduring all this blather, Nanu grunted, plucked his chopsticks between his fingers, and stirred. Steam rose, its heat disguising the cold beads of sweat forming at his brow.

"I am treating you with respect and generosity. And instead of accepting this goodwill on its face-instead of supposing that I simply am that decent-you choose to read my intentions as ignoble. Maybe it's manipulation, you think, or deception, or worse, an attempt at lulling you into a false sense of security. You perceive me as a foe, and want to me to play that part. In fact, I suspect you would much rather I treat you like a prisoner."

"Least I'd know where we stand."

"Yes," Giovanni said. He sounded pleased. "Precisely my point. Well, then. Allow me to clarify." He matched Nanu's stare and its intensity. "It's nothing personal. I treat all my business partners this way. I find that a man who is well-fed and comfortable will perform his best."

Right. Giovanni, the cold-hearted pragmatist. Nanu hid a queasy shudder of doubt.

"So, please: eat."

In the end, Nanu's principles couldn't win over appetite. He gave the ramen another stir, another bitter glance over. He had always considered himself to be too crafty to be manipulated so transparently, yet here he was, being wooed like he was some two-bit crooked cop. He relented and scooped up a clump of noodles for eating; Giovanni, perhaps feeling like celebrating a minor victory, cracked open his beer.

For all Giovanni's talk of this being normal fare, it still felt painfully casual―awkward, even―slurping on noodles in the middle of a dining room devoid of life, other than the dry, stonily silent presence of a former gym leader and crime boss. Nanu wondered whether Silver ever planned to join them, before coming to the conclusion that Giovanni was used to eating alone and Silver probably felt no obligation to change that. Nanu gulped another mouthful, traced the room's empty shadows, tinted only by the pallid natural light entering through glass doors.

Silence dragged. Nanu finished his meal in a few swallows; he knew how to put food away, and he didn't feel the need to prolong the arrangement. Sooner he could get out, the better.

Giovanni, though, still in the middle of his own food, noticed the hurry. "You were hungry," he said as Nanu lifted his bowl to his lips to finish off the broth.

Nanu shoved the now-emptied bowl aside and half-lied, "Guess I didn't realize how much I miss Kanto food. Everything in Alola's sweet. The bread's sweet. The meat's sweet. That or it's covered in tasteless glop. At least Malie's got a sushi place."

"If it's such a culinary desert, why live there?"

The best he could come up with was, "Never meant to stay. Well, anyway. Thanks for the chow." He pushed himself back, chair squeaking, but didn't manage to stand without interruption.

"Kuchinashi."

Nanu slung his arm about the back of the chair and slumped back into his seat. "What?"

Giovanni wasn't ready to answer, apparently, despite starting the exchange. As if he'd planned on saying something, but lost it―or suddenly realize it would be unwise to say. The man paused for a moment, mouth tight and brow pensive. Then, finally, he said, "Your beer."

"I'll take it to go." Nanu snatched it up to twist off its cap, but as he did, he could tell Giovanni was about to object. "...Unless you got something else for me."

"No." His shoulders and back remained rigid and overly formal for a friendly lunch, but his right hand fidgeted, making stabbing motions with his chopstick into the remainder of his food. "I was only thinking about what you said earlier."

Nanu felt he had said plenty, so at first he didn't know what he meant.

"About regrets." He met his eyes, creating a disconcerting intimacy. "When we're young, we have dreams. So I confess I feel some... nostalgia, even now, for my career as a gym leader. For a time, I thought it would be my life. But goals and dreams change." He paused and braced his hands against the surface of the table. "I realize things have changed a lot in forty years. It must be challenging for you to reconcile what you remember about me with what you have heard. But rather than bore you with my life story, I want to assure you of something. I don't believe in fate. I don't believe in allowing circumstances to make choices on my behalf. Every path I have taken, I chose for myself."

Nanu translated in his head: ' _Mommy didn't make me take over Team Rocket, so don't you dare ever insinuate that again.'_ He hummed and swigged his beer. "That include ditching Team Rocket?"

Giovanni didn't flinch. "Yes. It was time."

"A'ight. Fair enough. You don't want pity." Nanu held the beer bottle in front of his face, scrolling his eyes over its sweating label. "Don't worry. I don't pity you. Nah. To be honest, I think you got what you deserved."

The cryptic statement sent the other man through a confusing whirl of emotions. First, he frowned, as he understood that he should be offended; next, he looked befuddled; then, finally, he smiled―a startled, curious smile, followed with a surprised chuckle. "Well, I have to say, you've got me intrigued. 'What I deserved'? What could you possibly mean?"

Nanu felt no more need to sugarcoat things. He hammered the glass bottle down and answered, grating his words, "You're a hypocrite. The worst kind, too. You're a trainer through-and-through. Always have been. You know what it is to have a bond with your partners. But that didn't stop you, did it."

Giovanni started eating again, plucking stray noodles and taking delicate bites. Nanu suspected he did it just to annoy him.

"You ripped pokemon from their trainers."

The other man had the gall to shrug off the accusation. He swallowed and acknowledged, "We removed many poorly-trained pokemon from unfit trainers, it's true."

Leave it to Giovanni to make his enterprise sound like a charity. Nanu hotly reminded him: "For profit."

"How else is business run? I can't pay my employees with my goodwill."

"...Sold the critters off for experiments and underground fighting rings. Poachers and gourmet chefs―"

Giovanni cut him off, though not in a way he had done before. He didn't speak right away, but as he listened to Nanu, he placed his chopsticks on the rim of his bowl. He waited, and at the right moment, before Nanu finished, he slid a hand over the table and clasped Nanu's forearm.

The kahuna, understandably, stopped and froze. The gesture was gentle enough to not appear overtly threatening, but it was decidedly not friendly. It held exactly enough strength, firmness, and self-assuredness to be a power move. He could feel muscle, power and blood enough to snap his arm in two.

Out of the tense silence that followed, Giovanni spoke. "Now, I really am surprised," he chided. "I never thought you of all people would come to me babbling such cliches. You think I haven't heard all this before? You want me to explain where those pokemon ended up? How am I to know? And how is it my responsibility? Such monstrous people as you describe could get pokemon other ways―they could just as easily raze the world capturing them, or trade for them―and there are already laws in place that define and punish that kind of maltreatment. That I moved merchandise from point A to point B―"

"Merchandise." Nanu rose his voice a decibel, but didn't yell. " _Merchandise_."

"Spare me the righteous indignation. The meat industry exists, and I don't see Interpol wringing their hands over it."

Nanu countered rather lamely, "That's... different."

"Oh, is it?" With a condescending snort, Giovanni released his arm and taunted, "Never mind. I don't expect you to be equipped for a philosophy debate."

Finally, Nanu lost his cool. He snarled. " _Suck my dick_."

Giovanni didn't clutch any pearls, but the spike in vulgarity sufficiently stunned him into silence. For a moment, he brought his hands about his bowl and seemed to contemplate how to respond. But rather than scold his guest or retaliate verbally (or physically, as he well could), he lifted his hands in a small gesture of surrender. " _Alright_." He dropped his voice like he was negotiating with a madman. "Alright. I take it back."

Livid, Nanu shut his mouth and let the remainder of his insults simmer unsaid.

"It's a bit besides the point. I still don't know how I 'got what I deserved,' even if I'm as wrong as you say. I'm doing well for myself. In fact, I think I bear a rather charmed life."

It was a strangely obtuse thing to say, all things considered. In the middle of his life being threatened, his son's safety at stake; sitting in a kitchen only he ever used, adjacent to hallways decorated with faceless art. The whole house, sterile and solemn, unlived in, haunted by security guards, housekeepers, and occasionally an estranged son who wanted nothing to do with him. He probably never left the property for fear of being recognized and found out. His days filled with solitary pursuits and phone conferences. No wonder Giovanni had so much to say. This may well be the only face-to-face conversation he would have for the rest of the day.

Nanu could call his own life fairly lonely. He spent many hours alone in his police station, sitting stale coffee and watching TV. But he could not keep out a steady stream of pestering figures: Acerola, Team Skull, the kahunas and captains, the occasional trainer or tourist. He might not always appreciate their visits, but under all that old-school cynicism, he had to admit, there was something pleasant about being wanted. Even if their efforts didn't win him over, they meant well, and they meant it in all innocence and sincerity.

"Right," Nanu said as he stood up. His sarcasm was palpable. "Big fancy house. Business booming. Good food. Nice view." His eyes began to linger outside, where the garden and lakeside stretched out as far as he could see, green and teeming with untamed life. He didn't want to feel any sadness in that moment, but the melancholy hit anyway, tainting his speech. "Nicest damn prison I've ever seen anyone build for themselves."

He didn't look at Giovanni. He didn't need to. He threw back another taste of his beer, squinted against the window's crystalline glare, and turned.

Strauss had to be done digging through that security footage by now; right?


	7. Dagger Before Me

Nanu started to suspect that Strauss didn't like him.

Okay. Scratch that. He'd known that the instant he met the security head. Strauss's thin veneer of respect couldn't cloud Nanu's view of the resentment simmering underneath. The kahuna saw it on display today in several forms: first, when Strauss almost refused to let him see the footage he collected, until Giovanni intervened; second, when Strauss brought out his own investigative findings before Nanu finished looking over the footage, and placed the report before Giovanni, proud and pleased with himself, as if to say _see? What I did? Without any help?_ ; and third, when Strauss went apoplectic at Giovanni's suggestion that he join Nanu at the next location.

Amidst the bickering between employee and boss, Nanu managed to comb over the significant parts of the footage, and saw what Strauss had seen: sure enough, after Silver arrived at the Pokemon Center, a white van rolled past some ten minutes later, creeping by like a wary predator. It stopped long enough for the camera to pick up a license plate number and for a passenger to hop out, uneasily approach the doors, cast eyes on the camera, and scurry back into the vehicle to retreat. Strauss had done well to search the records of the van, and discovered it was a rental registered to false financial information and ID's. Police records indicated the van had received a number of parking tickets within a half mile of a particular motel in town, so one could deduce they were staying there.

"-Entirely unnecessary to make me leave the property; I need to remain _here_!"

Nanu creaked and leaned back in the rolling chair, his eyes poring over the plethora of screens and blinking lights. He could see room after empty room, each monitored in high resolution. The man had spared no expense on this system.

"...That your men will fall apart at the seams because you are gone for a few hours. I'm asking this of you because I can trust you to back him up―"

"Mr. Giovanni, with all due respect―!"

The argument carried on outside the room, and it struck Nanu as awfully informal. Lippy, he'd call it. He was surprised that Giovanni would take that from his staff. He rolled away from the desk in time to hear Giovanni's final, exasperated point of reasoning:

"I need you to do this for me."

This broke Strauss's resolve at last. When Nanu emerged from the security room, stepping over cables and bracing against the harsh light of the foyer, Strauss had reduced his words to harsh grumbling, though he greeted the kahuna with a deferential nod to keep up an appearance of compliance.

Giovanni, though, stayed wary, like he expected the peace not to last. He inserted himself between the two, arms folded. "If you're ready, you can go straight away. Do you think you'll encounter trouble?"

"Depends if anyone's home, I suppose," Nanu said, shrugging. "Why?"

"Strauss can give you access to what defense equipment we have."

Nanu quickly imagined a wall of mounted weaponry and felt a twinge of excitement, but he had the presence of mind to know this wasn't likely. "What goods you got?"

"Tasers. Batons. Sprays," Strauss listed off. When he saw Nanu's lack of enthusiasm, he asked, irked, "Was there something else you wanted?"

"Shoot, at this point, I wouldn't mind a gun."

Giovanni and Strauss glanced at one another in surprise. The boss spoke. "We don't have guns."

"No?"

The security head took this incredulity personally. "Are you crazy? Even the old Team Rocket didn't use them."

" _These guys_ have guns. I wouldn't mind a little firepower if I'm supposed to go after them."

He could tell Strauss was itching to argue with him, but Giovanni cut the man off. "Your point is fair," he said, tone diplomatic. "But as it stands, the only gun dealers I know of belong to the very organization trying to kill me. That restricts our options for self-defense."

Nanu should have known. Gun restrictions were among the hardest laws to skirt, and carried some of the harshest punishments for violators, so with no rush to compete with rival gangs or police, criminals in Kanto and Johto didn't bother arming themselves. Even Nanu, who was one of the select few in the country to have an active license, hadn't touched a loaded weapon in years. He shrugged. "Eh. It was a longshot, anyway."

* * *

Nanu tried to keep his eyes forward. The long, tense car ride back into town included more company, but no companionship. The young driver still had command of the wheel, and Strauss took the passenger side, leaving Nanu to crawl into the back seat and feel very much like an escorted prisoner, especially when the entire trip threatened to persist in complete silence.

He slumped, drummed his fingers on his knees, and tried to read the two. The driver was significantly younger than the security head, and therefore likely far less experienced, but they didn't exchange the nervous chatter of unfamiliar co-workers, so they must have known each other well enough. Strauss occasionally would gruff a word or phrase in Johannes's direction―a reminder about a turn, a street name―and though they sometimes carried an edge of irritation, neither of them resorted to squabbling with the other. But perhaps that was Nanu's fault. Maybe his presence made them behave.

They seemed united, at least, in their desire to ignore him.

"Hey."

The pair remained solid and unaffected, like a stone wall. He could see a muscle clench in the back of Strauss's bare scalp, though. It reminded him of a cranky Granbull.

Nanu pushed himself forward in his seat to intrude on their personal space. He could see outside that they had reached a residential area, a tranquil neighborhood currently slumbering in the mid-afternoon sun. "If we're gonna be working together, might as well get to know each other."

Without bothering to turn around, Strauss said, "I already know about you. Sit back."

"Oh?" Nanu balanced an elbow at the edge of Strauss's headrest, perilously close to his skull. He leaned in. "Ah, that's right. You probably had to read up on me. Shoot. No wonder you're antsy." He could sense Strauss's growing irritation, but was happy to ignore it. "Then, seein' as you know about me, you mind if I ask you a question to even things out?"

"What? What is it?"

"What did you think?"

Strauss threw back a quietly hostile look; his brow crumpled.

"About my record. Assuming he asked your opinion, and you gave it, right?"

Strauss had reason not to answer, and from his tense shoulders and body language, he seemed ready to tell Nanu to take a hike. His ample hand even tightened toward his chest, like he considered knocking Nanu back into his seat. But instead of falling back on his usual hostility, he let out a short exhale of resignation. "You seem good at what you do," he answered, eyes steady and straight ahead. "But you have a collateral damage problem."

"What'd he say to that?"

Again, the man withheld criticism, blanketing it in euphemism. "He has his own way of calculating risk."

The car began to slow to a crunching, creaking crawl on the asphalt. Nanu looked out the window and saw the leaf-shaded face of a two-floor motel.

He felt his skin crawl.

As a child, motels were home, but only out of necessity. His parents couldn't afford to move into a house or apartment, not so much because of a lack of money (though there was that at times), but because they needed to ability to pick up and leave at a moment's notice. He had loathed it. Just when they settled in, just when he would get used to the rhythm of a new room in a new city, memorized where the best corner stores were, found kids down the street would could be new friends, he'd be shaken awake in the night and told to pack his bags. He was lucky to stay anywhere for an entire month.

Yet for all the indignities afforded by motel living―the lack of privacy, the sad interior decor, the stuffy carpeting and curtains, the cheap amenities, the uncomfortable beds―these places hosted a bizarre, fascinating, rolling cast of characters. He remembered sitting on the motel steps and tracking the parade of individuals entering and exiting their rooms; it was where he first fell in love with people-watching. All the unsavory business and trades. All the innocents lugging their children along for vacations. All the whispers and affairs and liaisons. And of course, in those days, Pokemon Centers weren't so common, so in some cities, journeying trainers filled many of the rooms along with their noisy companions.

From that time onward, especially after becoming a cop, he saw motels for what they were: a filter in the moving waters of urban life that snatched up curiosities and dragged them into plain view. You could learn a lot from them, and in the rare times something unpleasant or vile happened in a Kantonian community, it often had root there.

This particular motel had a quaint, bland appearance, with a moderate number of rooms lined up in a series of stone-teal doors. The motel sign welcoming customers bore jagged edges over a rich green pallet, its top narrowing down to a tip, mimicking the shape and girth of a healthy pine tree: "Big Pine Motel." The place appeared well-kept, given that Nanu could remember its presence in the community forty years ago and it didn't look worse for wear. A little faded, maybe.

The place seemed quiet, given it was post-summer and early afternoon. The only activity they saw was a sweaty, overweight, shorts-clad vacationer struggling to carry his luggage up the stairs, with a Gloom plodding behind him and offering very little support.

Johannes parked across the road and looked to Strauss for direction.

"Van's not there," Strauss said.

Nanu barely let the man speak before he put his hand on the door and shoved it open.

"Hey, wait―"

"If they're not there now, we should move quick," Nanu rebuffed.

"We don't even know for sure that they're staying here."

Did he have to explain everything? He sighed in chagrin. "Then we talk to the owner. C'mon, big guy."

If Strauss had misgivings about his nickname, he didn't voice them. He uttered an order to the driver, hoisted himself out, and joined Nanu where he crossed the street. As they started for the office, the man offered, "If you need me to, I can ensure that the owner talks."

"No. Criminy. Just let me do the talking."

* * *

As he suspected, the motel manager was a regular schlub who could be fed just about any story and believe it; Nanu explained that they were collections agents seeking a group of foreigners who'd been dodging payment on a van, and the manager stopped short of handing them the keys to the room. Apparently, the group had not endeared themselves to management: double-parking, smoking, littering, drinking and leaving bottles about the lot, being rude and uncooperative. The only thing that quelled their misbehavior was threatening to call the police, which management said they nearly did a few days ago when the men spilled out into the parking lot and erupted into a raucous argument in the middle of the night.

Management gave a room number, informing them that the group might be back early that evening. That meant they had some time, so without delay, they moved for it.

As they approached, they could see the blinds down and the lights off, but they didn't take chances. They slid along the wall, hoping that the neighbors would remain inside and quiet as they advanced toward the worn door. The mounted number posted on its face had come loose; the '1' dangled upside-down on a single nail, and looked ready to fall off at the first sign of force. Nanu motioned for Strauss to stick to the wall as he reached over and gave the door a commanding pound with his fist; after a few moments passed, Nanu felt confident that no one was about to answer.

"Room service," he hollered, on the off-chance that it would work, despite the "Do Not Disturb" tag dangling from the knob.

Still, no response. He shrugged.

A swift kick into the door's lock would fly the flimsy thing open, but he wasn't here to cause property damage. Instead, he brought out his Sableye.

The gem-eyed goblin materialized at the foot of the motel room door, and looked to its owner for direction.

Nanu gestured for it and spoke discreetly. "Gonna need a Shadow Sneak here."

Sableye, after looking about and not recognizing its surroundings, scratched the motel door curiously, chittering and cocking its head at him. He didn't usually ask it to help him break into strange places―at least not since he retired from the police force years ago.

He scratched his head. It felt silly having to justify himself to the pokemon, but here he was. "Yeah, I know. I, uh, got a warrant. Sort of."

With an eerie, sighing sound, the Sableye slumped and melted into a puddle of ectoplasmic goo, which shimmered a shade of purple as it slipped under the door. Seconds later, the doorknob twisted and the door popped open.

Out of an abundance of caution, Nanu remained next to and not in front of the doorway until he could peer over his shoulder and see inside. All he could make out was empty darkness, the only shapes being inanimate furniture. Once his Sableye trundled out, looking happy and unperturbed, he concluded that the room was for certain empty.

"We're clear," he said to Strauss. "Keep watch."

Strauss didn't intend to stay behind, however; without saying a word to him, he delegated watch duty to a partner. He pushed a hand beneath his hefty black coat, pulled a ball from his belt, and released a fierce, formidable Zangoose, which he directed to stand at the door and keep them alert to any trouble.

Fine. He could work with that. Nanu caught his Sableye pawing under one of the beds, so he cleared his throat, motioned his head, and said, "All right, you too, Kaitō. Outside."

Though his pokemon squeaked in disappointment, it obeyed, and once it retreated to the curb, Strauss shut the door behind them with a decisive thud.

* * *

At first glance after the lights flipped on, Nanu determined these were bonafide bachelors. The place was a mess: standing forests of empty beer bottles, mountains of food and packing stacked on tables, unkempt beds and dirty laundry draped over ever empty surface. A typical environment for a group of young men forced to live in close quarters. The tacky motel decor, including the sickly yellow wallpaper and bad nature photography hanging on the wall, was overshadowed by the disarray.

Nanu began to pace about the room, noticing that as he did, Strauss didn't move a muscle, but kept his arms folded and eyes strictly trained on him. This irritated Nanu more than he'd like to admit. Strauss seemed to be under the impression that he, and not these men, needed to be tracked.

Nanu tried to remind himself that the man would just get in the way, anyway.

From the condition of the room, he could deduce a bodycount with some accuracy; the way the bedding was thrown about, he could see there were two to each bed, and a pile of additional bedding on the floor meant another slept there. Five in total. Towels sweated on the floor in soggy piles, crumpled and empty chip bags lined the tables, and the sheets had a musky smell that came from too much use and not enough room service. Given the circumstances, they must have asked the cleaners not to come in. A wise choice on their part. Within seconds, Nanu lifted a mattress and found a pistol peacefully sitting in the bed frame. The other mattress yielded another one―and loose, empty shell casings rolling from the sheets and tumbling onto the floor.

Well. Not trying too hard to hide anything, obviously. Any cop investigating a room would upturn mattresses first, maybe second after throwing pillows around.

He let his eyes linger on the second gun. Then he reached for it.

At first it felt like a bowling ball in his hand; he had forgotten the heft that came with it, and the strength required to pull back the slide and check the chamber. However, he soon adapted and remembered, and extracted a fully loaded magazine and then a live round from the chamber, which popped out and flew across the room.

Strauss released a small utterance of surprise and jerked back when the round rolled against his shoe, like its contact had burned him.

Nanu grinned at his discomfort and twirled the now-cleared gun with his finger. "Hey, think I can keep this?"

"Do what you need to," Strauss said. His voice sounded uneasy, and Nanu's gunplay didn't reduce the tension. "Are you almost done here?"

"What are you in a hurry for?" After stuffing the weapon into his bag, he reached the bedside table and pulled open the drawer. "They ain't here, so let's make use of our time." As if on cue, he spotted a suspicious dime bag underneath a gossip magazine; he whistled and brought it out into the light. White, crystalline powder was contained within. He flicked the bag with his finger, mostly out of habit. "Shoot, it's been a while since I've seen this."

"What is it?"

"My guess, amphetamines o' some kind." Nanu again pulled his bag forward from his hip. Without access to investigative tools or a crime lab, collecting evidence would be an informal affair, so he dumped the package inside and proceeded to shuffle through the rest of the tabletop. "Packing heat, on edge, and hopped up. It's why they emptied a clip the other night."

That wasn't the kind of reckless behavior Nanu associated with a strong, stable crime organization. This better fit the profile of a self-destructing gang of thugs, a clan of boys trying to play at being violent men. That they carried guns seemed to be incidental. Without those weapons, they would pose only a small threat.

The rest of the room provided few clues. Just unwashed clothes and garbage littering the floor. But as Strauss started to lose his patience and edge for the blinds, peering between them with worry, Nanu found a paper cup in one of the trash receptacles. It had been discarded with a small, half-sip's worth of a murky black liquid at the bottom―a sniff told him it was black tea.

"Hey." He caught Strauss's attention as he turned the cup in his hand. He saw only a simple, green label in the shape of a stylized leaf. "There a cafe around here?"

"A few."

"Any with this logo?"

Strauss took a moment to get over his hesitation and approach. Once he took the cup into his own hand, he glanced at it and shrugged. "I don't know all the places. But it looks familiar. Did you find any receipts?"

"Nah. I doubt they're using credit, anyway, and most of this is vending machine food."

The investigation proved simple: Strauss removed his phone from his pocket, searched places nearby, and announced a minute later, "Here. This looks right. _Café Verte_. It's a new place."

Nanu sucked in a breath and headed for the door. "Alright then. We go there next."

"Just based on that?"

"Foreigners tend to find one go-to place and stick with it. My guess is they haunt the place. Or at least the staff there will know something."

Strauss seemed skeptical.

Nanu didn't blame him.

* * *

The weather was perfect for outdoor table service: warm, with a soothing, fresh breeze crossing a garden to the west of the commercial block, strong enough to send the aroma of wet earth, but not enough to toss the cloth napkins on his table or upturn the waitress's notes. Nanu crossed his legs and watched his shadow cast all the way down the sidewalk. His ear itched; he scratched it, careful not to damage the earpiece nestled inside.

When he first arrived at Café Verte, it struck Nanu that he had heard of the place from somewhere. Not by name―but once he saw the sleek exterior, the black tables, the tightly-dressed waitresses, and galettes served with fresh cups of _café noisette_ , he recalled that Sullivan had rambled on about a Kalosian cafe at some point. Nanu felt a sudden throb of anxiety; the man wasn't here, was he? After a moment, though, he calmed himself. It was the afternoon, and Sullivan wouldn't be out at this time of day.

The blonde, generously endowed waitress made her way over, untucking her pen from the front of her blouse. _Yup._ Now he knew why Sully liked the place.

"Hi! Sorry to keep you waiting." She smiled. She had a twangy, down-to-earth accent; obviously a local hire, but not new to customer service. "Is this your first time here?"

"Yeah. Heard good things from a friend."

"Oh? Gr-e-e-at!" Her fingers, tipped with fluorescent pink nail polish, clicked at the end of the pen with a frenetic, frightful energy. "So, our special today is a Nanab berry crepe drizzled with chocolate rum sauce. It comes with a coffee of your choice."

Nanu could hear the irritation scraping his eardrum when he drawled, grinning, "Well, doesn't that sound delightful."

Truth be told, Nanu didn't care all that much for sweets, preferring his meals savory and cheap. But the girl was cute―and convincing.

"What the hey. You only live once. And I'll take my coffee black."

Plastered with a pleased, brimming smile, the waitress took his order and sashayed away.

With her out of earshot, he joked, "This _is_ going on your boss's tab, right?"

Strauss sounded ready to explode with tension. " _Stop fooling around. I thought you came here to question people._ "

"Gettin' to it. Relax." Trying not to look too obvious, he side-glanced across the street, where their car parked at the corner and just out of sight. "You just keep an eye out, and don't make a move unless I say so."

He took Strauss's lack of response as an affirmative.

The coffee came to his table quick as a flash, but the waitress was called away by a nearby older couple before he could get a word in, so he leaned back in his wireframe chair with his brew, taking steep sips while he measured up other individuals in his vicinity. A young urban professional woman sipped coffee and nibbled on a salad while texting on her phone; another couple eating in silence; a backpacker standing at the doorway and reading the menu in deep contemplation. He didn't see anyone suspicious, certainly.

The waitress came around to refill some coffee cups; he flagged her down.

"Hey. Can I talk to your manager?"

"Huh?" She fixed her teeth against her bottom lip. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just got… A question for 'em, that's all."

The manager came out of the interior within seconds, it seemed―gussied up in a crisp, pink dress shirt and a nervous smile. He, too, proved not to be Kalosian, but was a fast, slippery talker, a proper city boy. He clasped his hands together and gave a ceremonial half-bow. "Hi, I'm Kenji, I'm one of the managers―I-heard-you-have-a-question? Is-there-something-I-can-help-you-with?"

Nanu paused for a moment, if only to give the poor kid a chance to breathe in. "I'm just curious about your menu."

"Yes?"

"See, I have this friend. They've been raving about your tea." Nanu propped his arm up on the table and rested his chin in his hand. "Was wondering if you could tell me more about it."

"Oh! Well! That's great! I mean, I'm not surprised! Most people buy their tea cheap from planters up north, but ours comes straight from farmland in Lin-Lui. It costs more to get it shipped from overseas, but you can really taste the difference."

"Hmm." Nanu had a feeling. "I bet it's bringing in new people. You notice anyone unusual lately?"

"We get tourists, but…" It must have struck the manager then that the line of questioning was strange.

"You haven't had any, say, problem customers lately?"

"...Why do you ask?"

Nanu leaned in to speak surreptitiously. "I've heard complaints."

"Oh!" This got the manager all flustered; his good mood vanished. "Well, I, I can assure you―listen, if this is about a particular group of young men, just know that we've handled it."

"Have you."

"Absolutely. We talked it over with them, and they've agreed to only come over one at a time. I'm sure… They don't _mean_ to cause trouble, it's just cultural differences."

Nanu just nodded skeptically.

"Anyway, uh…" The manager realized he'd been blabbing. "Now, it that everything?"

Nanu could see his food coming up. Service sure was quick. He waved the manager off. "I'll let you go, thanks."

The manager left, and the waitress dropped off a steaming plate, centered with a crisp, golden crepe lightly powdered with a snow-shower of sugar and drizzled with glistening chocolate. He glanced into his cup. Still some coffee left. He put his mouth to it to mask his talking.

"These guys seem pretty miserable at keeping a low profile."

" _They don't worry. Kantonians are too polite; they almost never call the police._ "

True enough. Nanu could remember the many times he had to ask _why didn't you call?_ and the residents responding, _well, I figured if they stole, they really needed the money…_ The whole region had a monopoly on well-meaning naivete.

" _We still see nothing. Should we go?_ "

"I dunno." Nanu pulled the plate towards him, making sure the sound of porcelain carried through the earpiece. "Still haven't finished my coffee, and this looks pretty good."

" _Sir…_ "

"We stake out for the time being. If it's true they only come here one at a time, it'd be better than trying to tackle 'em all at once."

As it turned out, he had time to finish his crepe and get another cup of coffee, too. Just as well. The pleasant weather still held, and sunlight began to bleed through the leaves of a nearby tree, dappling his shoulders with light. He waited. Couples unseated themselves and filed out, while others came to take their place. The waitress stopped by to ask if he was ready for his check, which he dismissed, and then proceeded to lounge for at least another forty minutes. Strauss didn't complain, which meant he at least had some patience, but just when Nanu really started to wonder if they'd be rewarded, he caught a swift figure crossing the street at the end of the block.

The young man hunched close to his phone, a black leather coat over his torso, a sweat-stained sportswear underneath it, and greasy and curly black hair tangled about his forehead. A gold stud glistened at his left ear, and a coiling, black tattoo peeked out from beneath his coat collar. He spoke profusely into his phone in a (at least to Nanu) unintelligible language. And he was loud. Louder than a typical calm, reserved Kantonian, and louder than even a more forward yet conscientious Unovan. His side of the conversation, which from the sound of it seemed to be a heated argument, boomed down the block before he stepped foot on the cafe's grounds. Heads turned. He didn't notice.

Nanu guessed and placed him at an age in his early twenties. Young, foolhardy. He possessed unearned swagger in his step; his face was strangely baby-like, with puffy round cheeks and small, beady eyes, but his brow wrinkled with a harshness that meant to show he meant business.

If Nanu were the kid's boss, he'd tear him a new one for bringing so much attention to himself.

"You see him? Coming from the south."

" _In the black coat_?"

Heart racing, he leaned over his coffee and covered his mouth, uttering, "Just walked up. You didn't see the vehicle?"

" _No. We'll circle the block and see if we can locate it_."

Strauss may have been out of line to declare his intentions without asking, but Nanu considered it and agreed. "If you find it, do not approach. Just report to me. I'll deal with this one."

His vision narrowed, tunnel-like, until all he could see was the man yakking into his phone at the doorway and loitering in place as he finished his phone conversation.

* * *

He heard his father's voice. Distant, faded, worn away by almost half a century.

 _Alright, kiddo, you've got your mark_.

He pushed the voice away.

* * *

Nanu gathered himself, placed his mug of coffee before him, and approached the man from behind. As he got closer, he didn't stop or slow down, but pretended to be distracted by something until it was too late.

 _Thump. Splash_.

In a deft, purposefully klutzy move, he collided with the thug's side and spilled the entirety of his coffee down the other man's shirt and pants. The man yelped, pulled his phone from his ear, and gave a wild, offended jerk backwards, sputtering foul curses. After he came to his senses and realized Nanu was responsible for his drenched, burned state, he sealed a look of pure murder on him. Nanu gathered that if no witnesses stood there to behold their face-off, the man would have pounced and ripped him to shreds. As it was, the youth merely gawked at him, red-eyed, death souring his breath as it fouled Nanu's face.

"Oh!" A waitress, seeing the mess, ducked for a wad of napkins at a table.

"Aw, hell," Nanu moaned. He put a hand to his forehead and put on the best show of remorse he could, with as much of a bumpkin accent as he could pull off. "Geez, I really got you good. I'm so sorry; plum wasn't looking where I was going." The waitress ran over with the napkins, and he seized several out of her hands, shoving them into the man's coffee-soaked chest, before his victim could object. "Here, here, lemme get that." He wiped, saturated a few napkins, then came back with more, until he had mopped the man of most excess moisture.

The waitress reached over to dry the man's coat, and for a second, the Chunam native looked surrounded and violated. He spoke, voice gravelly and low. "Alright."

They didn't hear him. Nanu slipped a hand into his coat pocket when he wasn't looking.

"Alright!" The man snarled and shoved Nanu away, his face almost swollen and purple from anger. "Get off of me! You clumsy old geezer!"

Nanu surrendered, hands up and putting on a nervous laugh. "Hey! Shucks. Just tryin' the help. Sorry again."

Harrumphing and pulling his coat tighter over his shoulders, the Chunam man cussed him out, shoved his phone into his pocket, and turned for the entrance to the cafe.

It would take the young thug only a minute or so to realize his wallet was gone; maybe long enough to make his order, hear the total, pat down his pockets, search each of them, then do the where'd-I-put-that twirl. So Nanu didn't waste time. He clapped the wallet onto his table, opened it, and proceeded to slip out every card or paper he could find.

He arranged things into a neat little grid, began to identify interesting tidbits, traced contradictions and clues, then saw the looming shadow crawl over the table.

"You," the man hissed, "come with me."

Nanu looked up a moment, then down again. He fidgeted with the wallet's pockets.

" _Now_." The young man pulled back his coat, and flashed the grip of a pistol at his hip.

Finally, things were getting interesting. He scrawled his eyes up to the intense, cutthroat expression on the man's face. "Hmm." He flipped the paper, and said, "Nah. Siddown."

The young man twitched, hand nervously edging for his hip.

But Nanu scolded, "You gonna make a fool o' yourself? In front of all these people? Sit and we'll talk."

Birds sang in the distance. A woman cackled at her lover's cheesy joke. Wind blew. The Chunam thug stood still, hand wavering, eyes darting about the terrace. He seemed to count figures, and after a tight frown disfigured his face, he allowed his coat to fall back into place, and he drew up a chair. He sat and faced him.

"There, now. That's better."

By the dim, hellish look in the man's gaze, Nanu suspected he was being mentally disassembled.

"You can have your wallet back in a second. I'm just curious about a few things."

The man's voice crackled with tension. "Are you a Rocket?"

"No." Nanu pointed to the photo ID. "I'm guessing your name isn't really 'George Burroughs.' You got a real name you go by?"

"If you're not a Rocket, then who are you?"

"An interested party. Now, you gonna answer one o' my questions?"

The man glared and stewed, gargoyle-like and menacing.

"Okay. That's fine. You don't hafta say anything. I'll just tell you what I see, huh? Actually, I got some feedback for you. 'Cause I gotta be honest, this isn't a good set-up. First off, this is a citizen's ID, which you aren't. You got a copy of your passport folded in there, which I get. But it says Yu Feng. Could be your real name. Unless it's a fake, too. Sure doesn't match the ID, which, shoot, to a cop would be might suspicious. See what I'm saying?"

The only movement Nanu could see in the man was steady, labored breathing whistling through taut nostrils.

"And-well―" Nanu tapped a dime bag with his finger and tsked chidingly. "Ya got ice just sittin' in there, as if you needed any more trouble."

Because the man wouldn't respond, Nanu just shook his head and began to collect and replace the items into the wallet in slow, methodical movements. As the man eyed him, Nanu rattled off more questions, keeping sure to maintain a private tone.

"Black Dragon Clan. Is that you?" Silence. "You have anything to do with a bungled kidnapping attempt the other night?" Silence. "You asked me if I'm a Rocket. What's the clan's interest?"

The man's mouth fell open, displaying yellowed teeth and smacking with foul threat. "If you are not Team Rocket, then that is not your business. We have made our demands clear to the one in charge."

" _The one in charge_?" Nanu leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. "Huh. That's funny. Who would that be?"

The man, sensing he'd said too much, fell quiet again.

"I don't know what your people are telling you, but you're chasing ghosts. Team Rocket's gone."

Finally, something Nanu said elicited a reaction: laughter. The thug snorted his derision and jeered, "Who's telling you that? You don't know anything."

" _That's it,_ " Strauss suddenly declared, practically shouting in his ear. " _There's no van. He's alone. We're coming around to grab him._ "

Nanu, blindsided, gawked into the man's murderous expression. Slowly, calmly, he uttered between clenched teeth, "That's a bad idea."

"What?"

" _Just lead him around the corner. We'll take it from there._ "

"I'm tellin' you, it's not a good―"

"Who are you talking to?!"

* * *

In Nanu's experience, interviewing or otherwise interacting with suspects was a matter of a hair's breadth. You dealt not in seconds, but in microseconds, little immeasurable moments that passed quicker than your mind can comprehend it. One second, a person might speak amiably, and in a blink, they could be sticking you in the gut with a dagger. To deal with these unpredictable sways, then, he had to be trained to notice small adjustments in body language and mood, and make accurate predictions as a result.

So when the man realized they were being surveilled and did not approve, Nanu knew the encounter was over.

Unobserved, the man might have thrust the gun from his hip and blown him away. But rather than attack, the Chunam man scanned his surroundings, as if intent on finding the source of interference, and bolted out of his seat. He whirled around, nearly tossed a passing waiter to the ground, and stormed out from the terrace and onto the street. Some panic crossed his expression when he threw back a glance at Nanu, checking whether he was going to follow him, but with a hand safe on his pistol, the man felt confident enough to abscond from the scene.

"Well," Nanu said, jumping up himself, "he's going."

" _Then go after him! What the hell are you doing?_ "

No time to argue. No time for a punchy epithet, even. He had to pick up and move. The last thing he heard from behind him was the waitress feebly calling after him about his check.

* * *

Despite the man's flight from the scene, Nanu didn't have to break a brisk pace to keep eyes on him. That was nice. Nanu hated running.

The street where they were about to play an amateur game of cat-and-mouse was a quiet one, spotted with solitary, youthful trees and storefronts advertising cell phones, junk food, and camping gear, each occupied with one or two customers at best. This meant the Chunam man would have no crowds to blend into, so in the direction he hurried off, he shouldered between a gabbing couple and appeared to be scouting each location as a potential route to lose him.

Then, before Nanu had a chance to gain on him, the man reached the corner and ducked to the right.

At great personal risk, Nanu chose to keep going. He felt blood rush from his chest to his head, the driven pounding suddenly turning to weightlessness, like he'd started walking on the breeze; he could feel the sting of his nerves standing on end. Tension. Focus. He licked his lips―an old habit, one he'd almost forgotten the taste of.

Turning the corner, he found an empty street.

His steps slowed. The young man couldn't have gone far. Nanu tread past a shuttered storefront decorated with potted flowers, their colors splashing in the plain, austere landscape. Then he walked into the space of an automated sliding door, which his feet triggered, and inside, he caught sight of a brightly-lit convenience store, manned only by an elderly shopkeeper who appeared to be nodding off at the front counter. He stared at its interior for a full second; its rows of pre-packaged drinks and sandwiches offered quality cover. But with no back exit visible, he determined it wasn't a good path for escape, nor a prime ambush spot, what with a security camera blinking away in the corner.

He strode past the glossy advertisements plastered on the walls and, next to a vending machine, there was an entrance into a narrow alleyway.

When he hesitated, Strauss scraped his eardrum again.

" _Where are you_? _We're coming now._ "

"Alleyway," Nanu answered, quietly. "Half-block south. He could be here. "

He overcame his hesitation and stepped around the corner. The alleyway opened up. A stillness came over his view; a perfect ray of light faced the length of it, refracting especially on the green hoods of the dumpsters standing in a row, and creating long, impenetrable lines of darkness where the shadows hid possible attackers. Wires overhead supported several, cooing Pidgey, with no disturbance evident.

Following his gut, he took a retreating step backward. "I might have missed him."

He felt something hard, cold, and metal press against his back.

He sighed and lifted his hands. Sometimes, he hated to be right.

The man didn't talk right away, as he didn't need to. The counter-ambush had allowed him to sneak up from behind, so at Nanu's back, he pressed him deeper into the alley until they could be out of sight from the open street, and held him at gunpoint adjacent to a lonely brick wall.

"Who were you talking to?" the man demanded. His voice about cracked with fury.

"A friend."

The thug glanced him over, then must have spotted the earpiece, because he clapped him on the side of the head, snagged the device, and proceeded to stomp it into dust on the pavement. "Are you a cop?" The man didn't give him a chance to answer, but pressed the muzzle against his skull. "I'm gonna blow your brains out!"

Nanu doubted that. But he had no reason to take any chances. He levied his gaze on the long, sharp shadow that he cast down the dead-end alleyway, and after staring into its center, a shimmer appeared, like a ripple in water. Glistening, eager gemstone eyes suddenly emerged and peered back at him. He couldn't help but smirk. "Good thing I always bring back-up."

The man uttered a mystified epithet in his native language, and Nanu watched as the shadow fell dark, rippled beneath his feet, and leaped out into the light: his screeching, loyal Sableye, performing the perfect Shadow Sneak and clamping its daggered teeth into the gunman's ankle.

Just when the thug howled in surprise, Nanu did exactly as he'd practiced endless times before, to the point of muscle memory: he ducked his head away from the muzzle and snagged a hand onto the gun, clamping down his fingers onto its slide. He held on for dear life―heard the ear-piercing explosion overhead, felt the rain of brick dust sprinkled down his scalp and shirt―and once the ringing in his ears was over, he could hear the kid's frantic, repeated pulls of the trigger, with no gunfire. The gun had jammed.

This allowed for Sableye to skitter up the man's pant-leg and back. It let out a horrible, gleeful _kree-ee!_ , screamed its delight upon finding a bonus prize―the diamond stud in the thug's ear―and gave the young man's lobe a greedy chomp, sending him into a fit of hollering and flinging about. In a panic, the man then released his grip on the firearm to fumble backwards, tossing his head, tangling his fingers into the ghostly creature to eventually pry it off and pitch it to the ground.

Weaponless and cornered, and now profusely bleeding down his jaw and neck, the young man scrambled for the other end of the alleyway. Nanu almost didn't realize why the kid chose that direction until he noticed a narrow, block row of ladders and railings. A fire escape. Evidently, he meant to take this to the roof. Or, also likely, the suspect assumed that Nanu was not spry enough to follow him up there.

The residual stiffness in Nanu's back told him… The kid might be right.

 _Well, damn._

There was no way to know if or when human back-up was to arrive. If he was going to do something, he had to do it now.

Shooting the guy with the gun now in his possession was _technically_ an option, but not a good one. Shelve that for now. Nanu began sprinting, juggling the jammed firearm between hands before deciding on waving it like a lunatic and shouting, "Stop! Stop right there!"

The only reason he caught up was the ramp ladder took one-too-many thrusts to unlatch, so as the thug started to hoist his ample frame up the first set of rungs, Nanu arrived and skidded to a halt.

He should have known better, but impulse took over, and he tried to yank on the kid's leg to keep him from clambering any further, which earned him a swift, and possibly deserved, kick into his chest. He reeled, lost his balance, and pounded the cement like a sandbag. He was lucky that his head didn't bounce or split open, but his spine received double-treatment, sore from a previous fall and now pancaked on the ground with the force of a meteor crash. For a brief second, he thought he'd died. A flash of light hinted at an afterlife, then dimmed―stars. He fought to take a breath, and after a few desperate sucks of air, he succeeded in his first inhale, which ballooned against a bruised and battered diaphragm.

A sledgehammer of pain pulverized his consciousness. Out of the fog, he could see the shadowy movement of the man disappearing up the fire escape. How much time had passed? He didn't know. But squealing tires somewhere adjacent to his skull signaled the arrival of more people, and soon, he found Strauss and his Zangoose standing over him, both decidedly disappointed.

"I heard a shot. What happened? You lost him!?"

Nanu tried to answer with biting sarcasm, but his lungs hadn't inflated all the way yet, so all he could come out with was a pathetic, irritable wheezing sound. He managed to point at the fire escape, which Strauss understood.

"Fine, I'll get him. Give me that," Strauss said, wrenching the pistol from Nanu's reluctant hands.

Strauss did not handle the tool smoothly, but dumped in a coat pocket like trash he'd plucked from the street. He then reached the fire escape and moved with astonishing quickness up the side of the building. It made Nanu feel… old. As his human partner disappeared onto the roof, he lay bitter and quiet for a time, but reminded himself that he was _alive_ and _unshot_ , and that in itself was a miracle.

A squeak sounded a few feet from his head, then small, pitter-patter footsteps. His Sableye pawed his arm and he carefully pushed his head to the side, in time to notice its grin.

"Urngh. Hey, you."

Its mouth widened, showing off as a proud predator displaying its successful catch between its impish teeth: a tiny, pebble-sized diamond.

"Oh. Uh, good boy?"

A flash of its tongue, and the diamond was swallowed.

Up on the roof, it sounded like matters were escalating.

 _Stop there! Listen! You're coming with me!_

Nanu scraped his nails on the dry cement, and felt gravel give way under his shoes as he strained to draw them closer. He groaned as another spiderweb of tension snarled at his spine, and he put every ounce of strength into rolling onto his side.

 _You're going to tell us everything. We'll make sure of that, barbarian._ _There's nowhere to go―_

The Zangoose gave a bark of agreement and support.

Nanu, with one final push, got himself sitting upright, albeit stiff and in pain. He returned his Sableye to its ball and noted that a queer silence had overtaken the rooftop.

When he at last stood to dust off his trousers, and saw the skeleton of railing and ladders swirl above his head, he heard a scream. It came from the other side of the building, ground level, and it pierced the sky like a gunshot. Not knowing what to make of the cry, he limped toward the dropped ladder, but more shouts joined in, chorusing with echoes of dismay and shock. He grabbed the first rung and heard a car squeal to a halt and a man yelp for police.

Just when Nanu worried for the worst, Strauss appeared over the edge, saw him, and cursed. "Get down!" In a few lithe jumps, he climbed down, boots rattling the metal in no attempt to stay quiet. "We have to go."

Their car already awaited them at the entrance of the alleyway. Before Nanu had a chance to express his alarm or confusion, Strauss had him by the coat and pushed him for it.

"Go! Go!"

Strauss's pokemon was gone, but his dominant hand clutched a ball, so at least it was safe. But Nanu suddenly had fewer hopes for their suspect. They reached the car and Strauss continued to growl and snap, ordering him to get in the car without explanation.

The younger Johannes, flabbergasted by the hurry, poked his head out. "What's going on?"

Nanu couldn't tell him.

"Get your head back inside, idiot!" Strauss nearly slammed the back door into Nanu's leg, and jumped into the passenger seat. "Don't stop for anything, hear me?! Just drive!"

As soon as the passenger door shut, Johannes gunned it. Despite his instructions, though, when he pulled around the corner in a brisk manner, he lingered once they reached the street in question; he gawked at the small traffic jam and crowd that had since formed near the curb.

Nanu strained his neck, but couldn't see anything past the crowd's shoulders.

"Get away from the window," Strauss barked, ready to reach out and shove him, but abstaining only to cuff the back of the driver's head. "Goddammit. _Drive_."

In a hard turn right, they cleared the block and made their way to the outer rim of the city.

"What the hell happened?" Nanu asked.

Strauss turned, puffed, cursed under his breath.

Johannes rejoined, worried, " _Strauss_."

When he whirled back around, he appeared, for a flash of second, vulnerable. His hands shook as they stuffed the pistol into the center console.

"Is he…"

"It happened fast," Strauss gasped. "He pulled a knife. Came out of nowhere."

Strauss didn't have any noticeable cuts. Nanu almost asked if he shot the man, but he hadn't heard anymore shots, had he?

"He stepped up on the ledge, and―" Strauss had to take in another quaking breath before he could pronounce it. "Cut his throat. Fell, out onto the curb."

Both Johannes and Nanu said nothing.

The car drove in bone-chilling silence as Strauss mopped sweat from his brow while other drops swirled down his nose and chin, staining his flushed and blotchy skin. He devolved into shuddering and hyperventilating. "Savages. Crazy savage sons-of-bitches…"

* * *

A sinking feeling hit Nanu the farther they drove. This clan that had touched these shores and begun to slip quietly into Kanto―these men were not old-school gangsters. If they were, Team Rocket would have at least some reference point; before Giovanni took over, the Rocket gang ran with even more ruthless force, using threat, terror, extortion, executions, blackmail, disappearances, and mutilations to coerce both those within its ranks as well as a wide swath of civilian victims. Team Rocket understand the old-school. They would stand a chance against it.

But no form of Team Rocket knew the frenzy of spiritual certainty, blood-oaths, _harakiri_. Nanu knew only of stories from the ancient world, where it was said warriors caught in dishonorable defeat would disembowel themselves or cut their throats, as they found more glory in death than surrender. This clan dealt in prehistory means. ' _Savages' is right_. They were downright medieval.

Nanu watched Strauss descend into a silent anxiety attack as the city passed them by, its quaint buildings and lush trees sliding by like smooth waters. They weren't ready for this. Not even close.


	8. Serpent Under the Flower

Nanu hated post-conferences. Though they were ubiquitous―they happened after every mission he'd ever experienced―and mandatory in almost every profession in some form, they felt like glorified visits to the principal's office, especially when he had something to answer for. As a police officer, after an incident, he'd be called in by the chief, grilled on what went wrong... But at least in those days, having a partner meant something. Cops had each other's backs; you went into meetings knowing exactly which lies would be repeated to save their collective careers.

Nanu didn't intend to lie about anything (he didn't worry about being fired), but with Strauss as his partner, he suspected that the declaration of any bad news would lead to Strauss throwing him under the bus. There was no reason to expect loyalty.

When they reached the house, however, Giovanni was wrapped up in a long, private phone call, which meant he and Strauss had to find places to lounge while they waited. With no designated waiting area, they made do in the dining room. Nanu kicked up his heels at a sofa, and Strauss planted himself on a stool in the kitchen. They did not speak. Though they couldn't hear the content of the call, the tone of Giovanni's words echoed down the hall, and it sounded tense, which was just their luck. Giovanni would start the meeting already in a bad mood.

Nanu, fidgeting with his folded hands, examined Strauss from his peripheral view. The man hadn't improved in composure. In fact, he seemed to have gotten worse. The security head's face paled to a sickly shade of gray, and he bounced the ball of his foot on the floor in a nervous jitter while his hand shuddered in his pocket, clutching something.

After a while, Strauss brought out a pokeball, glanced at it, and muttered bitingly, "What's taking so long?" He turned and caught Nanu overhearing him, and responded by sneering and pushing the ball back into his pocket.

He was anxious about something, and it wasn't the upcoming meeting. Nanu took note.

When at last Giovanni emerged from his office, he arrived in their presence accompanied closely by another bodyguard. He appeared winded, and his voice betrayed a bit of exhaustion and suppressed irritation as he said, "Gentlemen. Excuse the wait. Come in, and we can get started."

* * *

Nanu let Strauss do the talking for once. He was the first-hand witness to their suspect's end, after all, and it gave Nanu a chance to stand back and listen. In Giovanni's office, they remained on their feet, like soldiers reporting for duty, and Giovanni accepted their testimony while leaning forward in his chair, hands folded, eyes intent. He absorbed every word with utmost care and did not interrupt. Even when Strauss began to describe the fate of the gang member, Giovanni responded by sitting upright, falling back in his seat, but not speaking.

Nanu watched. He saw no sign of outright fear―but there was a loss of nerve. The subtlety of his apprehension would be missed by anyone not looking for it; it was all in the slope of his brow, the tension at the very edge of his eyes.

At last, Strauss finished and awaited his employer's assessment.

"Did he say anything?" Giovanni asked. "Before he took his life?"

Strauss teetered, but with some thought, he answered in a thin voice, "No, sir. Nothing. He just… looked right at me."

"Was it fear of being captured? Or…" Giovanni paused to flit his gaze in Nanu's direction, and he gave him an almost helpless look, as if to say, _surely_ ** _you_** _can help me understand this madness_. "Do you think it was a message of some kind?"

Nanu could only shrug. "Could be. Tells us something, don't it."

This response didn't please Giovanni at all. He must've wanted something more concrete. He brought a hand to the bridge of his nose and exhaled a long-suffering sigh. "This isn't ideal," he muttered. "A death this public will have already attracted police attention. Did you successfully locate any others in the group?"

Strauss replied, "Sir. After the incident, we checked the motel again―but it's been cleared out. They must have caught wind of what was going on."

"There's another problem," Nanu piped up. "People saw me sitting and talking to him. It's likely I'll be ID'd as a person of interest, if not a suspect, by the time police are done."

"Oh! That's―" Giovanni let his hand fall onto his desk with a thud, and spoke through clenched teeth. " _Tremendous_."

The air bristled. Giovanni snapped his chair around to face the windows behind him, and the few seconds of admiring the sky appeared to appease his wrath, so instead of losing his temper, he fixed a knuckle against his cheek and went broodingly silent.

"Mr. Giovanni―" Strauss dared to interrupt his meditation. "if I may. This could have been avoided."

... _Here comes the bus_. Giovanni circled back around, face inscrutable but listening.

"We might've been able to catch up and take the man alive, but Mr. Nanu lost track of him after attempting an interrogation."

The finger-pointing couldn't be more unsubtle. Giovanni didn't emote, remaining stiff and cold, and scrawled his gaze over to Nanu to await his response.

Nanu could defend himself, or not. It probably didn't matter; Giovanni wasn't impressed with his subordinate's attempts at deflecting blame. But instead of wholeheartedly ignoring the comment or stooping to his partner's level, he chose a more diplomatic approach, which he assumed Giovanni would appreciate more than he would petty squabbling. Nanu took a breath. "He's right. Could've been avoided. But, eh, things happen."

They both looked stunned.

"I know this is kind of a disappointment an' all, but I say we look on the bright side."

Strauss sputtered and pounced on his choice of words. "The _bright_ side?! A man is dead. _Slit his throat_!"

But Nanu, undeterred, held up a hand and motioned for him to pipe down. "So you've said," he droned. "But I got his wallet and gun, and neither of us got killed. Sometimes, you gotta roll with the punches and not bother with excuses."

Strauss jerked suddenly in his direction, and without self-restraint, got up in his face, even jabbing a finger into his shoulder. "You've got some nerve! I did what I had to do while you were planted on your ass!"

"Al- _right_ ," Giovanni boomed as he stood to his feet. "That's enough." He nodded at Nanu. "Kuchinashi, you're dismissed. We'll reconvene another time. Strauss, a word."

A winner for this round had been chosen. Nanu lingered, a final thought still sticking on his brain, but he waited too long, and Giovanni motioned at him with a sweep of his hand.

"Shut the door on your way out, please."

* * *

From the living room, Nanu couldn't hear the substance of their argument, but it sounded more heated than the disagreements they had earlier in the day, and more one-sided. He strained not to listen in, and made a conscious effort not to meet eyes with the guard who waited in the hallway.

He had to admit he felt a little…

'Sorry' wasn't the right word. But he couldn't envy a guy who was being reamed out by his boss, in a manner plain to every soul nearby.

Nanu supposed the right thing to do would be to leave and report back to his room. Otherwise, he risked looking like he was trying to eavesdrop, or worse, rubberneck. But he had more to say, especially if matters were to move forward from here.

He decided, then, to wait it out. The din shortly after reduced to silence, the office door opened, Strauss emerged with knotted fists, and with only a brief, bitter glance in Nanu's direction, the man stormed for the front door, crashing it shut on his way out.

Nanu paused―watched the walls rattle, then still―and started for the office door again. The present guard stepped forward to block him, but he pushed past, as at this point, he'd judged them as toothless. With the guard following and stuttering, he breached the open doorway and gave the face of the unhinged door a stern rap.

At first, he thought he'd somehow missed the man, because the desk looked unoccupied, but as it turned out, the man was merely hunched over in his seat, comforting a complaining Persian. The cat mawed and shoved its head into his lap; he murmured tired assurances. Nanu's knocking interrupted him. Giovanni bolted upright, face still flushed and taut from strain, but his expression and color softened upon seeing it was only Nanu. "Oh…" He shook his head in confusion. "Kuchinashi. You're still…?"

"We need to talk."

Giovanni shifted to reach a drawer in his desk; from there, he drew out a pen and began scribbling busily on a detailed sheet of paper. He dropped his eyes, signaling his loss of interest. "Of course. We'll be talking this evening, once I'm done for the day."

"No, we gotta talk now."

Giovanni stopped writing.

"I'm sittin' down," Nanu said, pointing for the chair. Then he did, without receiving permission.

"Really, my afternoon has been extremely unproductive, I need to―"

"You weren't so busy you couldn't rip your underling a new one. You can give me five minutes."

Giovanni gave him a stern look of disapproval. Nanu nearly thought he'd be on the receiving end of another fit, but the man had probably worn himself down, and perhaps knew that losing his temper would only give Nanu a strategic advantage. Giovanni clicked his jaw and dropped his pen on the desk, then spoke shortly. "Alright. What is it?"

"Today was a bad outcome. Need to clarify, though. It wasn't all his fault or anything."

"I… see." Giovanni, now amused by this turn of events, put his hands together before him, studied Nanu's resolve, and said, "I don't think it's wise to assign _blame_ in a situation like this, but maybe you wish to enlighten me. What was your assessment of his performance?"

Now that Nanu was asked directly, he admitted, "Didn't follow directions. He was aggressive and impatient and blew our cover."

"That sounds like blame."

"Okay," Nanu harrumphed, "but you're the one who sent me out with your bum guy."

In disbelief, Giovanni uttered, "I'm sorry, my _what_?"

"You knew he's a combative asshole. That trait didn't magically appear today, did it?"

"...Ah." Giovanni nodded with sudden understanding, and marveled at Nanu's bravery. "You think this is my fault."

"You're the delegation guy. It's your job to manage your people, put them where they need to be. The man outright told you he wasn't good for it―turned out he was right, and you made him do it anyway. Now I'm no management guru, but that sure didn't come together."

"He made some mistakes. It's been addressed. He'll do better next time."

"What? No. No, he won't. This is a temperament issue. Temperaments don't get fixed." Nanu could tell his message was getting lost on him, so he sighed and brought himself to his feet, leaving his palms resting atop the desk. "Look. I prefer to work alone. Now, I know I don't get to call that shot. Certainly didn't when I was on the force. But between you an' me, if I _have_ to work with somebody, they gotta be made of certain stuff."

"Did you have someone in mind?"

"I don't know your people, Sakaki. But I'd like somebody who can stay calm, shut their yap, and do as I say."

Giovanni brought his pen back into his hand, tapped it on his palm, and pondered. A reel of faces must have drifted before his eyes, but he made no outward expression of a decision. Instead, he deferred blandly, "I'll take your feedback into consideration."

"Gee, thanks."

When Nanu turned for the door, Giovanni called him back. "Kuchinashi. You should take the day to recuperate."

"I'm not injured. I landed pretty bad, but―"

Giovanni's eyes narrowed. "A man has died."

"Uh...? Oh." Nanu had to remember. Death was unusual. Death was terrible. He rubbed the back of his head, to work this mindset into himself. "Right. Nah, I'm good."

This answer seemed to trouble Giovanni more than it reassured him. He tapped the point of his pen down, stirring up a thought. "All the same. I dismissed Strauss for the day, so you should follow suit. Consider it a sabbatical, until matters in the city… Calm."

That's right. Strauss _was_ awfully shook up. Nanu privately wondered, but didn't dare ask, if Strauss had any background with killing, though from his overwrought response, Nanu guessed the man only had experience in straightforward security business. After a moment's thought, Nanu put his hands in his pockets and declared, "I'd like to talk to him. Any idea where he'd be now?"

Giovanni frowned, suspicious of his intentions. "I highly suggest you give him space."

"It'll be fine. Just a chat."

Giovanni gave him one last look of despondence. If Giovanni had the energy and strength, he would have refused to say anymore and thrown him out of his office. But as it was, Nanu could tell that Giovanni had no fight left. He just wanted blissful solitude and quiet, and in exchange for that mercy, he would have given Nanu anything he asked for. The exhausted man noticed his Persian pawing at his leg and gave it a few doting strokes before miserably caving. "If I had to guess… He's probably headed over to Ritter's." Giovanni realized this would be an as-yet unfamiliar name to him, so he explained: "There are living quarters sectioned off at the south end of the property. It's occupied by the grounds manager, Ritter. It's near a creek bed that's not visible from here, and my men use the place to take breaks. Smoke, gossip, drink, and... other things they think I don't know about."

"A-ha. Gotcha."

"Don't be surprised if they try to chase you away. You can feel free to speak with Ritter, though, while you're there. If nothing else, he'll invite you in for tea."

* * *

"Living quarters" appeared to be a fancy way of saying "shack," because after a short walk winding around the back of the house, Nanu indeed found something of a hut a little ways off, its form nestled in between the shadows of a few dark trees. At a glance, someone might miss it; though like the rest of the buildings, it was freshly built and well-maintained, its facade bore naked, varnished redwood, and atop it, a thatch roof further blended it into its leafy surroundings. Gravel steps led him down a minor decline toward the house, and the path continued at the bottom of these steps alongside a small ravine, no more than six feet deep―the creek bed Giovanni mentioned. But because of either season, weather, or design, no water bubbled at its bottom; the dry bed featured only stones and weeds. And―as he came closer to the house―men.

Two security workers stood at the bottom of the ravine, feet planted safely on firm earth. The echoes of their voices carried up the hill, along with their occasional laughter and their cigarette smoke. Because of the gravel crunching underfoot and the modest size of their hiding spot, Nanu didn't get very close before they noticed him, but they declined to greet him, only lowering their voices and stifling their good humor. Their eyes tracked him.

Nanu decided to trek a bit closer to the ravine and call down. "Strauss come this way?"

He may as well have spoken a foreign language. They gawked at him, then one turned away while the other had the guts to stare him down and growl, "Who's asking?"

Nanu dropped his shoulders and sighed. If they were unwilling to answer questions, it didn't impede him any; it wasn't as if Strauss had somewhere to hide if he did, in fact, come here. "Never mind."

Upon approaching the hut, he had to step over and between some loose equipment: a rake, a pile of bricks with mortaring tools, scraps of wood. Whoever managed the place, his work had spilled out into the yard.

Nanu took the steps up to the doorway and knocked. For a moment, only a shuffling noise came from inside, but soon enough, the door opened, and a man stepped into plain view.

Nanu had a preconceived picture of who he expected to see, based on his limited understanding of what a "grounds manager" might be. He thought of a robust man, a person with an ample, muscular frame to support hard labor; sweat blotches staining overalls and jeans; dust on boots, baseball cap, and hefty work gloves.

But Ritter―as Nanu correctly assumed this was―had an appearance that Nanu could only think to describe as _gentle_. He stood with relaxed and narrow shoulders, his loose stance supported by slender, almost gangly limbs. His clothes were free of any obvious blemishes, just a trim-fit windbreaker over a baby-blue polo, each ironed and maintained with utmost care. A burning cigarette dangled from his lips, and a black beret covered a head of golden-brown curls.

The man wasn't Nanu's age, but he didn't appear too young. Maybe in his thirties. Enough age and experience to be a danger. Nanu kept that in mind.

""Ello, 'ello," this new man said. His voice was cheery and soft as cream, smoothed out by an inelegant but comforting foreign accent. His mouth spread into a generous, albeit surprised smile when he saw the unfamiliar figure before him. "Hm? Can I help you?"

"Your boss said Strauss may have passed through here. Looking for him."

Ritter clapped a hand to the doorframe, his smile growing to almost impossible proportions. "Look at that, then! We haven't met, have we! You must be Mr. Giovanni's visitor… That police officer they've all been jawing about."

Nanu strained to attempt peeking over the man's shoulder, but couldn't see anything. As much as he hated introducing himself, he knew he couldn't power past it, especially with a character so overtly friendly. He tried to rush things along by offering his hand. "It's Nanu."

"Right, right, good to meet'cha!" The man might have been built like a twig, but he shook Nanu's hand with alarming enthusiasm and strength. "It's great to see a new face around 'ere! Name's Ritter." He mercifully let Nanu go, then rattled on, "Strauss is in―he's doing a thing―say, why don't you come inside?"

"Uh."

"Just be careful," Ritter said in a concerned whisper. "He's had a bit of a shock."

"I know."

Ritter pried the door open, left it ajar on its hinges, and guffawed as he backed inside. "Oh, of _course_ you know! Reason you're here, in'nit? Well, come on, then! I've got the kettle on."

After years of living with the endless cheer and welcome of Alola, it had felt especially chilly, arriving here and being treated with suspicion and hostility at every turn. Besides Giovanni, whose kindness could hardly be called warm, every person Nanu met at this property had reason to dislike him and reacted accordingly. It got tiring after a while. So this man's hospitality felt like a cool splash of water after an oppressive day.

He stepped in and was brought into a quaint, charming living space that, wall to wall, couldn't be much larger than Giovanni's office, but contained a kitchen before him, a dining table to his right, and what must pass for a sleeping area to his left. Not much color graced the house, only wood panels, wood furniture, and the occasional dusty throw rug, but clutter in the form of books, dog toys, and far too many novelty coffee mugs scattered all about the tiny space and offered splashes of visual stimulation. An earthy, floral scent wafted through the room, perhaps from incense or potpourri, though it could also have been the enormous volumes of tea that he spotted in Ritter's open cupboard. It mingled with the pungent, sour smell of tobacco that had been inexorably absorbed by any porous substances in the house, and now emanated warmly from an ashtray balanced at the end of the stove.

A tea kettle simmered at the electric stovetop, so while Ritter tended to it, Nanu shifted his attention to the sleeping area, which really was no more than a bed wedged against the wall. Of interest, though, was the man bent over and working frantically on something.

Because Strauss's back was turned, Nanu couldn't immediately identify what he was up to, but a case lay on the floor at Strauss's feet, open and displaying bottles of antiseptic, bandages, scissors, and other medical tools. A first aid kit? Then Nanu noticed the most telling detail: the target of Strauss's fussing. His Zangoose sat at the foot of the bed, eyeing its master's hands and twisting its ears in discomfort.

Nanu doubted that Strauss didn't hear him come in, but then again, he appeared extremely focused. He stepped toward the bed and said aloud, "Hey."

In the kitchen, the kettle whistled. Strauss took one look at him over his shoulder, flared his nostrils, and returned to work.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Strauss said, like a guilty child. The pile of bloodied bandages discarded on the bed suggested otherwise, and when Nanu maneuvered enough to look around Strauss's shoulders, he found the man was binding the Zangoose's left arm, trying in vain to stymie the bleeding from a pronounced gash at the back of its paw.

With that, Nanu at last understood. No wonder Strauss had been acting funny since he left the rooftop; no wonder he'd been pawing at the monster ball and sweating bullets. Nanu had known many a hardened man who fell to pieces when their pokemon was at risk.

The Zangoose, noticing Nanu's attention, flattened its ears and bared its canines.

"He cut your partner," he said. He could feel his voice soften as he experienced an unwanted pang of pity. "Did you get nicked, too?"

"I'm fine." As Strauss showed no signs of bleeding or bandaging, he seemed to be telling the truth, but somehow, he didn't sound happy about it.

"Funny. I thought Zangoose were good at dodging."

Strauss bristled, veins popping and spit flying. "They _are_."

Nanu chose then to pause, think, and realize his mistake. "It took a hit for you. You mighta mentioned that to your boss."

"Oh, no," Ritter said, surprising them both with his presence. He had come up as they spoke, and held a steaming mug of tea while sucking air between his teeth. "Better not. Boss doesn't like hearing his people getting their 'mons hurt in the line of duty. Sees it as sloppy."

Strauss, who didn't need to be reminded, stepped back to examine his work.

When Ritter saw the sad, poorly-bound bandage unwinding itself again, falling into a bloody lump at the Zangoose's feet, he let out a subdued, pitying chuckle. "Oi, mate, you need to take first aid again or something; that dressing is rubbish."

For that comment, Ritter almost earned himself a beating. Strauss reared up, mouth agape and ready to shriek his indignation.

But Ritter side-stepped him after wordlessly handing off his tea to Nanu. "Here." He stooped down before the injured creature, ignored its warning growls, and looped his fingers about the cloth bindings. In a few brisk but careful winding motions, he re-wrapped its paw and tied it in place, successfully compressing the worst of the bleeding. "There, now, luv," Ritter muttered, patting the Zangoose a little too hard on the head as a send-off. "That should stay put."

Strauss didn't offer any gratitude, only stony silence. But Ritter made no signs of being bothered by this or expecting thanks. He moved away, allowing Strauss to return to fretting at his partner's side. Then he took his tea back from Nanu, smiling as he did. "Well? 'Nanu'?" Ritter suddenly locked eyes with him, full of intent. "Heard things went south for you two. Is that what you came to talk about?"

He heard? What was the grounds manager doing, poking his nose into these affairs? Did Strauss tell him? Nanu blinked and frowned.

"Can't be easy, can it." A wistful, fleeting sadness crossed Ritter's face. "Seeings those sorts of things."

Nanu flitted his eyes in Strauss's direction; the other man returned a heated glance.

"It's been talked about already," Strauss contradicted bluntly. He didn't sound thrilled at Ritter's intrusion into their conversation, but held back his tongue out of deference. He did draw out his monster ball and return the injured Zangoose inside. "There's no more to say."

"Right; you had the meeting just now. Did Mr. Giovanni tell you off terribly? Don't take it too hard," Ritter consoled, patting Strauss on the shoulder. "He was on the phone with his ex all afternoon, you know. Wasn't in a good mood to begin with."

Both Nanu and Strauss found themselves momentarily speechless at this revelation, but Strauss recovered quickly to groan and shake his head in admonishment. "Ritter… You talk too much."

Of course, Strauss was right.

Which gave Nanu an idea of what to do next.

"A spot of tea before you go?" Ritter asked.

Strauss stooped down, compiled loose items back into the first aid kit, and shut it decisively. "I've got things to do."

 _Not according to your boss_ , Nanu didn't say aloud.

"See you later." Strauss then snapped around and gave Nanu one final, nasty look. "And you, _stop following me_."

After Strauss trudged out the door, slamming it behind himself, Ritter noticed that Nanu hadn't moved.

"How about you?"

Nanu didn't really drink tea; he was more of a coffee-consumer. But Giovanni had said he should feel free to talk with him, and who was he to shoot down the offer?

* * *

As he drank his fresh cup of unsweetened green tea out of a hefty clay mug, he observed several things.

In through the doorway, muddy footsteps showed signs of recurring, diverse types of entry. Not just Ritter's shoe size. The amount of unwashed dishes didn't match Ritter's solitary lifestyle, nor did the habit of not locking his door, which Nanu only noticed because not one, but two different men barged in before Ritter had a chance to sit down, one to return a borrowed gas canister, and another to rummage through his fridge for a beer and crack a joke about the night shift. Ritter didn't blink. He addressed them both by name, pointed out this and that, returned fire when appropriate, and sent them on their way. It was done so naturally, so unthinkingly, that he didn't pause to apologize to Nanu for the intrusion.

As Ritter went to re-shelve the first aid kit, Nanu had him figured out.

Mother hen.

Nanu knew how mother hens worked. His assigned partner, Looker, had been a textbook example. Caring. Nurturing. And a touch annoying, given how invasive and nosy he could get. Looker had uncanny maternal instincts, and his doting nature at first drove Nanu up the wall, especially once Nanu became a target. After working with him for a number of months, however, he got used to Looker's mannerisms and quirks. By the time they were assigned to a new task-force with a new partner, he didn't even notice anymore the times Looker would, unprompted, fix his tie, flip his shirt collar, fetch his coffee, scold him for smoking too much, remind him to file his paperwork, and urge him to eat the fermented vegetables that Looker had packed in his lunch, the lunch that the man dutifully made for him every day after it became apparent that gas station food was Nanu's go-to source of nutrition―

Why was he thinking about Looker right now? He shook himself back into the present. _Focus._

Finally, Ritter returned to the small, cramped dining table at which he had seated his guest. The tabletop wobbled on a loose leg when he settled into an opposing chair and lifted his mug.

Nanu opened with a deduction. "You military?"

Obviously, the question caught Ritter by surprise. He put down his mug without taking a sip. "Five years in the Kalosian guard. How'd you know?"

"That hat. I recognize it from when I was stationed there."

Ritter clapped a hand on the brim of his black beret, its fabric stitched with a coat-of-arms insignia, and smiled, feeling foolish. "Oh. 'Course! Don't think about it much anymore." He became curious. "Were you police there?"

"Interpol."

"Ah, well, then, you must've seen more action than I ever did," Ritter said sheepishly. "All we ever did were border drills."

Nanu wasn't surprised. Militaries were a rarity worldwide, and the regions that clung to them only did so out of formality. Armed forces were occasionally deployed to disaster areas or other difficult situations, but the last historical war had been generations ago. "Were you hired for your military experience?"

"Oh, no! No, not at all. Not sure it's ever come up."

Strange. The man not only had qualifications, but rapport with the security team, if his interactions with them were as affable as they appeared. Hiring him on as a grounds manager struck him as an unusual choice.

Ritter read his skepticism and explained, "Mr. Giovanni and I met through a construction contractor. He hired my team to build this place. After the job was done, suppose he liked my work, and asked if I'd stay and manage the grounds. That's all, really." Ritter, sounding intrigued, rumor-mongered, "Now you―word is you have history with him."

Of course that gossip had reached him. Nanu downplayed it best he could. "Some. It was a long time ago."

Ritter chuckled. "Well, Strauss seems to think Mr. Giovanni's rather taken with you."

"Uh-huh. I bet he does."

"Ah, he is always whinging about something, isn't he? But, he's been working for this family for ages, so he's probably earned that right."

"The family?"

"Because he worked for the mother, before. That's what he says, anyway. I dunno; haven't met her."

Giovanni's head of security was inherited? Stolen? And from the Madame Boss, no less? Did that make Strauss a former Rocket? Nanu would have to look into it, but for now, he chose to redirect their talk. "Let me ask you something. Seein' as you've been here a while. How would you describe this place?"

Ritter didn't have to think it over. "Quiet."

"Any visitors?"

"Business partners pass through now and again, but I hadn't seen any friends or family on the grounds until, well, just the other day, with you lot. Guest house hadn't been used until you showed up."

"How about girlfriends?"

Ritter had a hearty laugh at that; he kicked back in his chair, howling and being sure to set down his mug lest he spill his entire drink. He managed to quell his amusement, but his shoulders still bounced as he wiped a tear. "You've got some real stones coming at me with that! Bloody hell." He coughed, cleared his throat, and continued, "Anyway, I think you have him all wrong. He's not some playboy. He's… You know, he's the sort of man who falls in love exactly once."

"You mean his ex?"

Rather than deny it, Ritter only held his cup close to his face, eyes twinkling with an air of surreptitiousness. "You really think he's the type to let anything go?"

It hadn't taken long, apparently, for this man to learn one of those pillars of Giovanni's personality-one that Nanu picked up on the first day. This was a personality taken prisoner by nostalgia. Maybe Ritter was right, and his romantic behavior remained an eternal, hopeless retread. But it wouldn't be the only, or the most obvious, place in Giovanni's life where one could recognize his longing for a lost past.

Giovanni hadn't left Viridian City. He certainly could; it might have even served him well to do so. But he built this house in the shadow of the same shadow that enshrined his highest dreams and deepest despairs, making it a monument to the glories he once felt but since lost: a ritual return to his pain.

Who else would do that, but a fool clinging to old certainties?

* * *

Around dinnertime, Nanu was doing some research on his laptop; arduous work, the sort that involved downloading extraordinarily large data files and trying to sort information in a useful manner. After the disheartening resolution to a day's work, he made sure to utilize the information he'd gained, the most useful bit being a likely authentic copy of the thug's passport. From it, he hoped he could find the man's records and origins, the date of the passport's issuance, visa type, and so on. And even more importantly, if he could pull the right application data, he might find the names of the thug's partners.

Hours went by with him hardly noticing. Only a quick, protesting grumble from his stomach roused his attention and reminded him that he needed to eat something. With reluctance, he obeyed, prying himself from his work and drawing back several screen doors until he entered the commons area. As of yet, he had not used the furniture or amenities there, and he didn't remember Silver making use of them, either, so the space still looked utterly pristine.

Nanu was about to pull on his jacket and venture out into the night when the front door opened and Silver entered the guest house. He kicked off his shoes and stepped up onto the wooden landing, where Nanu looked on.

Nanu, a bit puzzled by his arrival, asked, "Did you eat already?"

The boy looked a touch exasperated. " _No_ ," he said. "I went over, but Dad's busy and kicked me out. We can make something here, I guess." Silver eyed the kitchen at the corner edge of the room, then revealed his own reluctance to volunteer by asking, "Do you cook?"

"Instant ramen."

"That doesn't count," Silver told him, already sounding irritated.

"Guess you're cooking, then."

"You _seriously_ can't cook anything? An omelette? Curry? Pancakes?"

"I don't know what to tell you. Never learned."

"How…" Silver could not look more aghast if he tried. "How have you _survived_ this long?"

Nanu actually had to put some thought into this; he tried to remember where, until now, most of his meals had come from. He recalled a recurring, if inconsistent, variable. "Well, having a lady friend around helps."

Silver translated: "Oh, so you count on women to take care of you. That's, like―so…"

"What? Women like it."

"Yeah, I'm sure they love babying some helpless creep who can't boil water." Silver sighed and, now resolved, opened the fridge to scan available ingredients. "Lucky for you, Dad likes to show off. Otherwise you'd starve."

Nanu grunted in acknowledgment. While the boy started to work, he walked to one of the couches, angling for a position that would place him in front of a television that he just noticed. As he searched for the remote, he observed, amused, "He'll make a good house husband for someone someday." The crack left him wondering something, though. He recalled Ritter's allusion to an 'ex' and realized there were details about Giovanni's life he was not privy to. The remote was found on the table, and he plucked it, but ended up fidgeting with it a moment as he tried to think of a way to bring the matter up. The kid wouldn't be happy talking about it, he could already guess.

"I'm making eggs," Silver declared, not asking, not offering.

"Sure. Hey―" Nanu twisted himself around to face toward him. "Your father didn't ever _marry_ , did he?"

Silver, as expected, pulled a disgusted, annoyed expression. "No. Does he _seem_ married to you?"

"Guess I'm just asking if there's a divorce in the mix."

"Yeah, no." He turned, began cracking eggs into a pan, and snarked, "Why? You planning on making a move or something?"

Nanu didn't return fire, but turned on the television and began flipping through channels. A few thumb presses, and he reached the local news. It wouldn't be the most transparent report, but he wondered how, or if, they would cover the downtown incident. A death in the middle of a busy business street would surely get some attention. For now, though, all he saw were two talking heads gabbing about top vacation spots for the autumn festival.

But the town news couldn't hold out for long, and soon he witnessed reporters putting on grim faces of concern, the display of the man's photograph, flashes of imagery from a press conference earlier in the day, then harried witnesses, including the restaurant manager bowing profusely on camera as if a corpse falling near his customers was his personal moral failing.

A real grand mess. He doubted he'd learn anything worthwhile from the media circus, but he found himself paying close attention and trying to glean what he could. Local police looked flustered, unprepared. No doubt they'll be crawling everywhere for the next few days, knocking on doors, demanding papers, enforcing curfews. The other thugs were wise to hit the road, but it meant his investigation in the nearby area had effectively ended. He would need to branch out.

"Woah."

Nanu jumped. He'd forgotten the kid entirely. Silver stood behind him, holding a plate of scrambled eggs and looking at the screen in astonishment. He then remembered that Silver was not―and perhaps should not be―aware of the incident. He grabbed the remote again, but his reflexes proved too slow.

"Did something happen?"

"Uh." Nanu fleetingly considered lying, but he reminded himself that despite Silver's vulnerability, he was not a child. Nanu hadn't agreed to nor promised to shelter him. "Yeah, that's one way of puttin' it."

He hoped to drop the matter and let the news speak for itself, but Silver wouldn't let him. "So?"

"We found a suspect. He ran, we pursued, things got hairy."

Silver read one of the headlines aloud: " _Accidental death_."

"That's code," Nanu explained. "Media won't call suicide over the air."

"He killed himself?" Silver's eyes grew; he gawked in silence for a moment, before finding his voice again. "Was he… Was he one of the guys who…"

"We think so."

"...Geez." Silver hesitated a moment, but came to the decision to sit. He circled around, reached the other end of the couch, and fell into his seat. Nanu thought he had come to eat and watch the news, but now, the boy spent some more time staring lifelessly down at his plate, words at first stuck in his throat. He didn't look up at Nanu when he asked, "Do you think… I mean, are other people gonna die?"

The question created a sudden rise of grouch in Nanu, too sudden for him to temper his chagrin. "Probably. How the hell should I know?"

Silver, stunned, opened his mouth, but Nanu turned up the volume. Better to shut this line of questioning down, stat.

It did succeed in quieting Silver and smothering conversation for a time. The boy eventually sighed, crossed his legs on the cushions, and began to shovel food into his mouth, eyes meanwhile glued to the news report as it reached its end.

 _...Witnesses have come forward describing an individual who may have been meeting Mr. Feng at a local restaurant, but police have not..._

Nanu, feeling deeply settled in a comfortable position but still hungry, eyeballed the plate of eggs. He spotted a lump of egg that had been pushed to the edge of the plate, and so in a lazy but practiced motion, he swiped it with his fingers.

"Ew! What are you doing?" Silver screeched and wrenched his plate away; if he had a free hand, he might have smacked him. "There's more in the pan; get your own!"

Nanu relented, not unlike a scolded child. But, as it turned out, something about sitting in a low position and then trying to brace his feet underneath him to heave upward cause a searing, stabbing pain at the base of his spine. Like the force of two gears jamming, he felt his lower back snarl up, and the agony began to bloom outward, consuming the rest of his spinal column and even enveloping his chest in fiery, piercing spasms.

He sat down again, letting out a gritted exhale. Even breathing hurt, so he resolve to sit very, very still under the flare-up passed.

 _Go figure. Spend the day running around and almost getting shot, and I get hurt_ ** _standing up_** _._

Silver, despite sitting next to him, didn't notice his suffering, but after a while noticed his lack of movement. "And I'm not getting it for you," he harrumphed, reading his stillness as laziness. With that, Silver took up the remote and changed the channel to a more invigorating program, as the story of interest had ended.

* * *

Neither Nanu nor Silver had expected Giovanni to appear that night, both believing that their evening in the guest house would resolve undisturbed. But around 8:30, after Nanu roused from a brief sleep to the blare of the television, the guest house's front door rattled open.

The man moved even slower than his usual, methodical pace, and he had shed his suit jacket for the journey over, leaving him in a limp, gently wrinkled dress shirt. He was alone and unattended, and his face was shrouded with weight and strain.

There was no unnecessary greeting; once Giovanni stepped up and approached them, Nanu gave him a once-over and snorted. "Well, you look dog-tired."

Giovanni offered a pained smile as he slipped his hands casually into his pockets. "It's been a long day."

Silver, though, had no patience whatsoever, so cut in with some clear hostility. "What do you want, Dad?"

Giovanni straightened himself, looking suddenly more alert. "Before we retire for the night, I have just two items of―"

A horrible yowling, like a woman screaming, erupted outside, interrupting him.

"Um… What's that?" Silver asked.

Giovanni tilted his head in the direction of the door, but was quick to recognize the sound, if the consternation in his tone was an indication. "Ah, that. Yes, that's―one of the matters I'm bringing to your attention. Kuchinashi. Your Persian."

"Yeah?"

"You let her out on purpose, I imagine?"

"Uh-huh."

"Yes, well. You should know she's been very busy. Mostly bullying Amun."

If laughter wouldn't have resulted in horrible pain, Nanu would have belted out a guffaw. Insead, he restricted himself to a mere smug smile.

Even though he was clearly annoyed, Giovanni tried to show good humor; he shrugged and sighed. "What is it that people say? Pokemon take after their masters."

Though he couldn't see anything, Nanu called out, "Good girl, Princess! That's right; show 'im who's boss."

"Do you mind? Can you please fetch her?"

Nanu had no intention of getting up. "Instead o' comin' to bother me, you could just as well put your cat away."

"I don't place Amun in his ball often, and… This really is _his_ home."

Giovanni: always a stickler for his perception of _fairness_.

Nanu growled and waved for the door. "Alright, alright. Let 'em in and I'll take care of it."

Though this was not the solution Giovanni envisioned, he relented. "I think you'd be better off stepping outside, but, as you wish."

He opened the door, called for his partner, and waited several seconds. He stepped back, perhaps unable to see or hear the situation outside, but with a loud crash, the door banged fully open, nearly knocking Giovanni in the face.

The room was thrown into a quick flurry of noise and chaos, with a tan-colored streak scurrying across the floor, pursued by a silver one; claws clacked and scraped across the wood-paneled floor, fur flew, hissing sputtered, and as the two embattled creatures hurried into the room, Nanu realized that the one being chased―Giovanni's Persian―changed directions to head straight for the sofa.

Like it knew who to blame for its predicament, the lean, panther-like animal leaped and collided into Nanu, its claws digging into his thigh when it launched itself again off of his lap. He cursed, but the cat ignored his yelp of pain and landed between him and Silver, turned around, and snarling murderously, its fur on end and hackles raised.

Princess scuttled to a stop, but remained on the floor, eyes wide, pressing her shoulders against Nanu's legs and thumping her tail on the floor like a whip.

Silver meanwhile groaned and slapped his hands onto his father's cat's intruding rump. He pushed and whined while the Persian persisted in yowling. "Amun! Get your butt outta my face!"

"Everybody― _ow―_ calm down." Nanu waved stiffly between the two animals, one prowling at his feet and the other spitting over his shoulder. "They're just playing. See? Let 'em get it outta their system, and soon they'll be dropping eggs all over the place."

Princess sat up, narrowed her eyes at him, and began licking her front paw, expression saying, ' _As if.'_

"Amun is a prized breeding stud," Giovanni told him, withholding laughter. "I'd have to charge you."

"Oh for―fine." Nanu carefully drew an arm to his side and fished for his belt clip. It took a little doing to find the ball without straining his back too badly. He caught Princess's eyes, lifted the ball, and apologized, "Sorry, girl. Guess you're too much woman for 'im."

A beam of light, and Princess was whisked back into her ball, bringing the chaos to a lull. Amun sat its haunches down, its ears still flat.

"There," Nanu gruffed. "Happy?"

He expected Giovanni to look satisfied, or perhaps residually irritated, but when he looked at the man's face, he found a sudden, perplexed expression of concern.

"What?"

"Are you alright?" Giovanni frowned. "You look… uncomfortable."

"He's paralyzed," Silver blurted out unhelpfully. He hopped up from his seat, stood next to his father like he was joining him in his investigation, and crossed his arms as he examined him. "Hasn't moved in forever. Thinks I can't even tell."

"I'm not paralyzed. Don't listen to your idiot son; I'm fine."

Silver, though, continued to taunt: "Did you throw out your back or something?"

"Mm…"

Because Nanu didn't retort, both looked at him questioningly.

He thought about how much longer he could pretend nothing was wrong, and gave up appropriately. He offered a small shrug and scratched his chin to conceal his embarrassment. "...Maybe."

"Wow," Silver said. "What an action hero."

For once, Giovanni voiced a tone of reprimand in son's direction. " _Silver_." He looked back at Nanu with a surprising amount of sympathy. "You didn't seem injured earlier. Did this just happen?"

"A bad fall caught up with me, I think. It ain't that bad."

"You're sure you don't need a doctor? I have one on call."

"No," Nanu hurried to say, desperate to avoid anymore attention. "No doctor. Just get me up."

Without any more deliberation, Giovanni offered a hand, and he took it. In a braced heave, he let himself be pulled up to his feet. He groaned and puffed. After pushing on his spine and cracking some joints, he managed to stand upright but remained entirely stiff. "Ugh. You don't have any painkillers, do you? The real addictive kind?"

"I'm afraid not for the moment." Giovanni continued to look over his crooked posture and seemed displeased that he could do nothing to help. Then, a thought lightened his spirits. "Do you think a massage would help?"

An unconventional thing to say to another man, maybe, but not nonsensical. Nanu cocked an eyebrow. "Why? You got a masseuse on call, too?"

"Masseur. And you're looking at him."

"You're…" Nanu paused, allowed the gears of his logical thinking to grind, and dropped his jaw. "Oh." He shifted his eyes and just managed to overcome his shock. Revulsion snared his voice. "Yeah, uh, that's… That's gonna hafta be a 'no' from me."

"You're sure?"

Thinking Giovanni was being cheeky, Nanu glared. "Make that a 'hell no.'"

"I have professional training." ( _How? Why!?_ ) "I'm told I'm very good."

"Don't care. Keep your hands to yourself."

Nanu got the sense that Giovanni suffered a stern blow of disappointment by his rejection, as if, in those few moments, he really had become invested in the idea of demonstrating his talent. If what he said was true, then this training must have gone to waste, because unless he was handing out massage sessions to his security team ( _yikes_ ), there was no one around to service.

Nanu could almost feel bad about saying no. But that thought wrapped around to another, a realization that Giovanni's current living situation probably meant he was increasingly starved of meaningful physical contact, perhaps for years, and―no, no, he had made the right decision.

"Something else, then," Giovanni volunteered after some thought. "I have my own hot spring. Natural water, directly from the mountain." Thinking he saw even the slightest sliver of hesitation in Nanu's decision-making, he enticed: "Hot water and warm sake under the moonlight. If that doesn't cure the both of us, I don't know what will."

Traditional, luxurious, and comes with free booze. Nanu gave in. "Damn, you're right."

But Silver interrupted. He had remained quiet with horror over most of their exchange, and sat back down on the couch with Amun, who in turn flopped its head into his lap. He absentmindedly scratched its throat when he declared, disgusted, "How's sitting naked in a pool together any less weird than a massage?"

"What're you yapping about?" Nanu grumped and put a hand on his hip. "It's an _onsen_."

"He's young," Giovanni excused, ashamed on behalf of his offspring. "He doesn't understand these things yet."

Silver rolled his eyes at the two of them.

"...Oh! How careless of me." Giovanni stood tall once again, though not an insignificant amount of discomfort crossed his face. "I almost forgot the other reason why I stopped by. I have some news. Silver, it's about your mother."

They both snapped to attention.

Before Silver had a chance to worry, Giovanni leaped to clarify, "She's alright. But after hearing about the situation, she's decided to come and stay here. She'll be arriving here at the guest house tomorrow evening."

" _What!?_ "

Nanu should have guessed. All that heated discussion on the phone must have led up to something. But while he wondered what that meant for the atmosphere here, Silver started to throw a massive tantrum; he shoved Amun off and sprang to his feet.

" _She's_ coming here now? To do _what_? Sit around and bitch about everything?"

Giovanni did not have the energy to fight. He stood still, a little stunned, and wrapped his hands behind his back. He stared at his son, eyes empty.

"Did you even _try_ to explain to her how pointless that is? Or did you just roll over and give in like always!?"

His father remained silent and clenched, twisted his wrists.

That Giovanni wouldn't answer him enraged Silver all the more; he shouted: "If anybody should be coming here, it should be Grandma! At least she'd know what to do!"

That was the final blow, the last stab at the heart of the matter. Nanu couldn't tell how much friction or hurt it might have caused, because Giovanni showed himself to be unflappable as usual, but Silver meant it to be a deep cut at some unstated resentment.

The boy left, stomping for his private suite.

Before Nanu could say anything, Giovanni said, weirdly upbeat, "Well, that went better than expected."

...And so officially, Nanu had a bad feeling about this.

* * *

Viridian City was a place of spirits. Not quite the same way that Lavender Town was considered a spiritual place; Viridian did not have the mournful souls of the deceased, tombs and funerary incense, or the smell of crematoria. If one went to the right corners of the city, though, especially on green hills or in caves or on paths winding into the mountains, one would come across evidence of worship: stone statues, moss-covered shrines, papers strung up and fluttering in the wind. As the city was surrounded on every side with vast, wild forest, and this greenery encroached upon the town's space like creeping fingers, the townsfolk could not escape this haunting. You felt it no matter where you were. And as children, exploration came burdened with a sense of not being alone, that when you walked up certain paths and between certain trees, you had to look over your shoulder.

Nanu thought about that again when they approached the bath house.

As it turned out, the hot springs were not on Giovanni's property proper, but a short drive further up the mountain, following a steep and at times harrowing gravel road that crackled and hurled stones into the vehicle's wheel wells, like teeth grinding. Absolutely no street lights, guide lights, signs, markers, anything―only vast, empty wilderness with choppy manmade paths that the driver needed to memorize in order to navigate. One bad turn could send the car and everyone inside hurtling down a cliff.

Off in the shadows, deep in unparted forest, he saw lights as they came closer. They glowed like blinking eyes, suspended in mid-air, a twin pair of spirits. He thought about the ghost stories he'd been told as a child, the times mysterious, impossible blue-and-yellow lights flickered from high in the mountaintop woods, and the lies children told one another to explain them.

Like most childhood fairy tales, though, these magic lights had a mundane source. The thick clouds of yellowed branches parted, they plowed through the last wall of evergreen brush, and before them, the bath house emerged, which from this position was concealed by a tall, menacing bamboo fence. And there, the pixie pair of floodlights illuminated the locked-and-chained front gate, which featured a red-lettered sign warning against trespassing on private property. Beyond the walls, Nanu noticed murky funnels of steam mingle with the utter darkness of the night sky.

Johannes wished them a good evening and brought out a newspaper to read, so they exited the car, and Nanu lingered on the road for a moment as Giovanni proceeded to unlock the gate. The place was so incredibly far from any hint of civilization, that few noises penetrated the area. The whine of insects, the hum of the floodlights, the slight popping noise whenever either of them adjusted their weight on the gravel, their breathing. The blackness, too, felt overwhelming under a waning moon; in every direction other than directly before him, all was shrouded, and all seated at the foot of the greatest, most looming shadow of them all, the mountain that bore down on top of them like the heaving chest of a giant.

A breeze blew through, chattering dry leaves together in the sound of a shiver. Then he heard the unwinding a chain, and the gate was open.

Giovanni had told him not to worry about bringing anything, as everything would be at the onsen, and he was right. Towels and washcloths were piled on shelves, and the space contained changing areas, robes, shower stalls, and seating. Like everything Nanu had seen so far, the interior had a minimalist, clear feel, with polished wood and cool, black-stone tile, the air thick with heat and the familiar stench of mineral water. The bath house clearly had not been built to accommodate large groups, and in fact seemed ideal for one person, but still, there were two of most everything, as if Giovanni, in acquiring the place, had to relent to the possibility of the space being shared.

A brief, brisk, sanitizing scrub-down, and they exited for the outdoor pool, a black, simmering pit that, when they stepped into it, seared like snake venom and felt like it would boil them alive. But experience led them to bear it through, and soon they both sat fully immersed under the water, seated on opposite rims of the pool. The spring was not so large that they wouldn't be able to talk from opposite sides, but they didn't talk, not about anything. That would break the spell and the implicit understanding of what this was. This was not an intimate space, not a place to spill your guts or open up, but a place to harden, to silence, to become a ghost.

One side of the pool had no fence blocking it from the outside world, but opened up to the air, because over the decorative stones stacked in the way, at no more than an arm's length, the area plunged into a valley down below. A dedicated person could jump to their death, one definitive stride from the pool's edge. Nanu ultimately decided, though, the design was not meant to tempt fate, but to provide the stunning view down the mountainside, down into the thick evergreen forests, across the lake, and into the southern rim of Viridian City, its lights so distant, that they proved hard to separate from the stars overhead.

Nanu let the water melt his muscles as if into a slough, the pain being shed, or maybe swallowed, into the bitter water swelling against his chest. He let himself slide down as far as he could, up to his chin much of the night, and after a few drinks of sake, the separation between mind and body became almost frightening in its totality, his thoughts wandering while his flesh sank and burned.

Nanu knew he should be relaxing, but slowly, something devolved. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the shadows in the dark. But he looked at Giovanni, who sat back, eyes closed, only the very tops of his shoulders above water, and he felt chills, actually cold, shivering, when _knife across a throat_ and he had to shake himself back into reality: the metal taste in the water wasn't blood, he didn't see red, it was a trick of the dark; blink, and it wasn't there anymore.

His imagination was overheating. He closed his eyes and breathed steady.

Everything was fine. Everything was good. Everything was, most importantly, under control.

* * *

Nanu gave a simple good-night when he exited the car and walked back toward the guest house, fully intending to collapse immediately upon entering his room. The house was dark, and his suite silent and still, so when he neglected to turn on his light and began gliding toward the bed, he almost missed an item out of place on his work table. It took a second pass by the table―he turned back to dump his jacket―to notice a folded yellow sheet of paper sitting atop his closed laptop. He didn't think much of it at first, but was curious enough to pick it up, start towards his bed, and flip it open to see what he'd missed.

He combed back his wet hair with his fingers and read it, then read it again.

' _Not everyone here is on his side._

 _Be careful_.'

Fruitlessly, he turned the paper over, examined each empty corner, and shook it, like he expected some clue to fall out. Nothing. He felt his heart throbbing into his throat, almost gagging him. Surely the culprit had left long ago, but in desperation, he flung himself for the veranda door, slid it open, and puffed as he scanned the yard for any sign of suspicious movement.

All was peace over the black-and-blue gardens, lit only by the last bit of moonlight of the month, undisturbed but for the lonely trek of a single guard tracing his line past a grassy hill.


End file.
